Silence alone is great; all else is feebleness . . . Perform with all your heart your long and heavy task. . . . Then as do I, say naught, but suffer and die.

Do you not see with your own eyes the chrysalis fact assume by degrees the wings of fiction?

Only silence is great; all else is weakness.

Greatness is the dream of youth realized in old age.

Honour is manly decency. The shame of being found wanting in it means everything to us. Is this, then, the indefinable, the sacred thing?

Fainthearted animals move about in herds. The lion walks alone in the desert. Let the poet always walk thus.

No writer, no matter how gifted, immortalizes himself unless he has crystallized into expressive and original phrase the eternal sentiments and yearnings of the human heart.