Convention was our safeguard: could one have stronger?

I know that I have in my make-up layers of synthetic experiences, and that the most powerful of my memories are only half true.

Illusions are art, for the feeling person, and it is by art that we live, if we do.

It is not our exalted feelings, it is our sentiments that build the necessary home.

... it appears to me that problems, inherent in any writing, loom unduly large when one looks ahead. Though nothing is easy, little is quite impossible.

At the age of twelve I was finding the world too small: it appeared to me like a dull, trim back garden, in which only trivial games could be played.

Fate is not an eagle, it creeps like a rat.