Every man has seen the wall that limits his mind.
Honour is manly decency. The shame of being found wanting in it means everything to us. Is this, then, the indefinable, the sacred thing?
On the day when man told the story of his life to man, history was born.
What is the use of theorizing as to wherein lies the charm that moves us?
The study of social progress is to-day not less needed in literature than is the analysis of the human heart.
But it is the province of religion, of philosophy, of pure poetry only, to go beyond life, beyond time, into eternity.