Civilization in certain respects is as inadequate as it was a thousand years ago.

I see no present solution of a great and intricate problem but that the rich should realize their duty to the poor.

It took me some time to learn that although every one secretly cherishes the ambition to be 'put in a book,' no one is ever satisfied with anything save incense, butter, and honey, unrelieved by salt or spice.

power, after it has ceased from troubling, is the dominant passion in human nature.

The French are a race of individuals. There is no type.

The grief of childhood is terrible while it lasts, it is so abandoned and so all-possessing.

The only real rival of love is Art, for that in itself is a deep personal passion, its function an act of creation, fed by some mysterious perversion of sex, and demanding all the imagination's activities.