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A friend who loved perfection would be the perfect friend, did not that love shut his door on me.
Logan Pearsall Smith
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Logan Pearsall Smith
Age: 80 †
Born: 1865
Born: October 18
Died: 1946
Died: March 2
Author
Literary Critic
Writer
Millville
New Jersey
Lloyd Logan Pearsall Smith
Loved
Perfect
Would
Love
Shut
Perfection
Door
Doors
Friend
More quotes by Logan Pearsall Smith
So, I never lose a sense of the whimsical and perilous charm of daily life, with its meetings and words and accidents.
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The lusts and greeds of the body scandalize the Soul but it has to come to heel.
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What joy can the years bring half so sweet as the unhappiness they've taken away?
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He who goes against the fashion is himself its slave
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There are people who, like houses, are beautiful in dilapidation.
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Money and sex are forces too unruly for our reason they can only be controlled by taboos with which we tamper at our peril.
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All my life, as down an abyss without a bottom. I have been pouring van loads of information into that vacancy of oblivion I call my mind.
Logan Pearsall Smith
Hearts that are delicate and kind and tongues that are neither - these make the finest company in the world.
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All mirrors are magical mirrors, and we never see our faces in them.
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The indefatigable pursuit of an unattainable perfection -even though nothing more than the pounding of an old piano -is what alone gives a meaning to our life on this unavailing star.
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The truth is that the phenomena of artistic production are still so obscure, so baffling, we are still so far from an accurate scientific and psychological knowledge of their genesis or meaning, that we are forced to accept them as empirical facts and empirical and non-explanatory names are the names that suit them best.
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There is more felicity on the far side of baldness than young men can possibly imagine.
Logan Pearsall Smith
If we shake hands with icy fingers, it is because we have burnt them so horribly before.
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What humbugs we are, who pretend to live for beauty, and never see the dawn!
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Those who talk on the razor-edge of double-meanings pluck the rarest blooms from the precipice on either side.
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Fine writers should split hairs together, and sit side by side, like friendly apes, to pick the fleas from each others fur.
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Only among people who think no evil can Evil monstrously flourish.
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What things there are to write, if one could only write them! My mind is full of gleaming thought gay moods and mysterious, moth-like meditations hover in my imagination, fanning their painted wings. But always the rarest, those streaked with azure and the deepest crimson, flutter away beyond my reach.
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One can be bored until boredom becomes a mystical experience.
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All our lives we are putting pennies — our most golden pennies — into penny-in-the-slot machines that are almost always empty.
Logan Pearsall Smith
