The Sphinx-riddle. Solve it, or be torn to bits, is the decree.

It was as if thousands and thousands of little roots and threads of consciousness in him and her had grown together into a tangled mass, till they could crowd no more, and the plant was dying. Now quietly, subtly, she was unravelling the tangle of his consciousness and hers, breaking the threads gently, one by one, with patience and impatience to get clear.

Sentimentalism is the working off on yourself of feelings you haven't really got.

Satire exists for the purpose of killing the social being [for the sake of] the true individual, the real human being.

In the end, for congenial sympathy, for poetry, for work, for original feeling and expression, for perfect companionship with one's friends--give me the country.

All vital truth contains the memory of all that for which it is not true.

A little morphine in all the air. It would be wonderfully refreshing for everyone.