The bottle of whiskey - the second one - was now in constant demand by all present, excepting Catherine, who 'felt just as good on nothing at all.

I don't think he was ever happy unless someone was in love with him, responding to him like filings to a magnet, helping him to explain himself, promising him something. What it was I do not know. Perhaps they promised that there would always be women in the world who would spend their brightest, freshest, rarest hours to nurse and protect that superiority he cherished in his heart.

An author ought to write for the youth of his own generation, the critics of the next, and the schoolmaster of ever afterwards.

A writer's temperament is continually making him do things he can never repair.

Personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures.

It's a great advantage not to drink among hard-drinking people. You can hold your tongue, and, moreover, you can time any little irregularity of your own so that everybody else is so blind that they don't see or care.

The afternoon had made them tranquil for a while, as if to give them a deep memory for the long parting the next day promised.