Culture had worked in her own case, but during the last few weeks she had doubted whether it humanized the majority, so wide and so widening is the gulf that stretches between the natural and the philosophic man, so many the good chaps who are wrecked in trying to cross it.

He doesn't want you to be real, and to think and to live. He doesn't love you. But I love you. I want you to have your own thoughts and ideas and feelings, even when I hold you in my arms.

A novel is based on evidence, + or -x, the unknown quantity being the temperament of the novelist, and the unknown quantity always modifies the effect of the evidence, and sometimes transforms it entirely.

Don't go fighting against the Spring.

Give, do not lend; after death who will thank you?

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

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.