Sane people did what their neighbors did, so that if any lunatics were at large, one might know and avoid them.

We all remember epochs in our experience when some dear expectation dies, or some new motive is born.

There is so much to read and the days are so short! I get more hungry for knowledge every day, and less able to satisfy my hunger.

Love is frightened at the intervals of insensibility and callousness that encroach by little and little on the domain of grief, and it makes efforts to recall the keenness of the first anguish.

Hurt, he'll never be hurt--he's made to hurt other people.

I have the conviction that excessive literary production is a social offense. ... Everyone who contributes to the 'too much' of literature is doing grave social injury.

Upon my word, I think the truth is the hardest missile one can be pelted with.