Masterpieces are only lucky attempts.
honesty dies in selling itself.
living for oneself is a bad thing. The keenest intellectual pleasure comes from being able to return to the self after being absent from it for a spell. But living all the time inside the self, that most tyrannical, demanding and capricious of companions - no, one shouldn't do it.
Genius, whether locked up in a cell or roaming at large, is always solitary.
You see what stupid folk my publishers are; but they are all alike.
Life resembles a novel more often than novels resemble life.