In matters of grave importance, style, not sincerity, is the vital thing.
I don't know how to talk. Oh! talk to every woman as if you loved her, and to every man as if he bored you, and at the end of your first season you will have the reputation of possessing the most perfect social tact.
God and other artists are always a little obscure.
The youth of America is their oldest tradition. It has been going on now for three hundred years.
Fathers should be neither seen nor heard. That is the only proper basis for family life.
And now, I am dying beyond my means. (Said while sipping champagne on his deathbed.)
The typewriting machine, when played with expression, is no more annoying than the piano when played by a sister or near relation.
While we look to the dramatist to give romance to realism, we ask of the actor to give realism to romance.
Actions are the first tragedy in life, words are the second. Words are perhaps the worst. Words are merciless. . .
The amount of women in London who flirt with their own husbands is perfectly scandalous. It looks so bad. It is simply washing one's clean linen in public.
To become a spectator of one's own life is to escape the suffering of life.
In the old days men had the rack. Now they have the Press.
I never saw anybody take so long to dress, and with such little result.
There are moments when art attains almost to the dignity of manual labor.
I am tired of myself to-night. I should like to be somebody else.
I have the kiss of Walt Whitman still on my lips
When good Americans die they go to Paris.
One can survive everything, nowadays, except death, and live down everything except a good reputation.
I knew nothing but shadows and I thought them to be real.
When I had to fill in my immigration papers, I gave my age as 19, and my profession as genius; I added that I had nothing to declare except my talent.
If one plays good music, people don't listen and if one plays bad music people don't talk.
There is a tiny yellow daffodil, The butterfly can see it from afar, Although one summer evening's dew could fill Its little cup twice over, ere the star Had called the lazy shepherd to his fold, And be no prodigal.
He watched it with that strange interest in trivial things that we try to develop when things of high import make us afraid, or when we are stirred by some new emotion for which we cannot find expression.
If the poor only had profiles there would be no difficulty in solving the problem of poverty
I gave my genius to my life, but my talent to my art.
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