There are people who are beautiful in dilapidation, like old houses that were hideous when new

When people talk of Ghosts I don't mention the Apparition by which I am haunted, the Phantom that shadows me about the streets, the image or spectre, so familiar, so like myself, which lurks in the plate glass of shop-windows, or leaps out of mirrors

How awful to reflect that what people say of us is true

Most people sell their souls and live with a good conscience on the proceeds

Don't let young people tell you their aspirations; when they drop them they will drop you

What's more enchanting than the voices of young people, when you can't hear what they say?