Everybody who does anything at all does too much.

The value of books is proportionate to what may be called their plasticity -- their quality of being all things to all men, of being diversely moulded by the impact of fresh forms of thought.

Beauty (was)a gift which, in the eyes of New York, justified every success, and excused a certain number of failings.

Beware of monotony; it's the mother of all the deadly sins.

Yes, one gets over things. But there are certain memories one can't bit on.

After all, one knows one's weak points so well, that it's rather bewildering to have the critics overlook them and invent others.

No insect hangs its nest on threads as frail as those which will sustain the weight of human vanity.