Any novel of importance has a purpose. If only the "purpose" be large enough, and not at outs with the passional inspiration.

Only this shimmeriness is the real living. The shape is a dead crust. The shimmer is inside really.

The human soul needs actual beauty even more than bread.

The world is wonderful and beautiful and good beyond one's wildest imagination.

The purest lesson our era has taught is that man, at his highest, is an individual, single, isolate, alone, in direct soul-communication with the unknown God, which prompts within him.

It is a fine thing to establish one's own religion in one's heart, not to be dependent on tradition and second-hand ideals. Life will seem to you, later, not a lesser, but a greater thing.

He always ran away from the battle with himself. Even in his own heart's privacy, he excused himself, saying, "If she hadn't said so-and-so, it would never have happened.