Jane, be still; don't struggle so like a wild, frantic bird, that is rending its own plumage in its desperation." "I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being, with an independent will; which I now exert to leave you.

The writer who possesses the creative gift owns something of which he is not always master - something that, at times, strangely wills and works for itself.

If he were insane, however, his was a very cool and collected insanity.

Poverty, for me, is synonymous with degradation.

The human heart has hidden treasures, In secret kept, in silence sealed; The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, Whose charms were broken if revealed.

Men, in general, are a sort of scum, very different to anything of which you have an idea.

Feeling without judgement is a washy draught indeed; but judgement untempered by feeling is too bitter and husky a morsel for human deglutition.