She only felt that the candle would burn better, the packing go easier, the world be happier, if she could give and receive some human love.

Don't believe those lies about intellectual people. They're only written to soothe the majority.

Our life on earth is, and ought to be, material and carnal. But we have not yet learned to manage our materialism and carnality properly; they are still entangled with the desire for ownership.

They cared for no one, they were outside humanity, and death, had it come, would only have continued their pursuit of a retreating horizon.

When we were only acquaintances, you let me be myself, but now you're always protecting me... I won't be protected. I will choose for myself what is ladylike and right. To shield me is an insult. Can't I be trusted to face the truth but I must get it second-hand through you? A woman's place!

Our easiest approach to a definition of any aspect of fiction is always by considering the sort of demand it makes on the reader. Curiosity for the story, human feelings and a sense of value for the characters, intelligence and memory for the plot. What does fantasy ask of us? It asks us to pay something extra.

The historian records, but the novelist creates.