When you look at the startling ruins of Nuremberg, you are looking at a result of the war. When you look at the prisoners on view in the courthouse, you are looking at 22 of the causes.
In the history of art there are periods when bread seems so beautiful that it nearly gets into museums.
She had storms all her life, but she died peacefully.
History looks queer when you're standing close to it, watching where it is coming from and how it's being made.
She felt about a love set as a painter does about his masterpiece; each ace serve was a form of brushwork to her, and her fantastically accurate shot-placing was certainly a study in composition.
She was built for crowds. She has never come any closer to life than the dinner table.
By jove, no wonder women don't love war nor understand it, nor can operate in it as a rule; it takes a man to suffer what other men have invented.
Genius is immediate, but talent takes time.