This, my first [bicycle] had an intrinsic beauty. And it opened for me an era of all but flying, which roads emptily crossing theairy, gold-gorsy Common enhanced. Nothing since has equalled that birdlike freedom.

[My early stories] are the work of a living writer whom I know in a sense, but can never meet.

I do like Italian graves; they look so much more lived in.

Have not all poetic truths been already stated? The essence of a poetic truth is that no statement of it can be final.

The story must spring from an impression or perception pressing enough to have made the writer write. It should magnetize the imagination and give pleasure.

Good general-purpose manners nowadays may be said to consist in knowing how much you can get away with.

Habit is not mere subjugation, it is a tender tie; when one remembers habit it seems to have been happiness.