Nature pulls one way and human nature another.

The historian records, but the novelist creates.

The king died and then the queen died is a story. The king died, and then queen died of grief is a plot.

Why can't we be friends now?" said the other, holding him affectionately. "It's what I want. It's what you want." But the horses didn't want it — they swerved apart: the earth didn't want it, sending up rocks through which riders must pass single file; the temple, the tank, the jail, the palace, the birds, the carrion, the Guest House, that came into view as they emerged from the gap and saw Mau beneath: they didn't want it, they said in their hundred voices "No, not yet," and the sky said "No, not there.

Let us think of people as starting life with an experience they forget and ending it with one which they anticipate but cannot understand.

He was obliged however to throw over Christianity. Those who base their conduct upon what they are rather than upon what they ought to be, always must throw it over in the end . . . .

The people I respect most behave as if they were immortal and as if society was eternal.