Years passed; and he endured the idleness of his intelligence and the inertia of his heart.

Talent is long patience.

Criticism occupies the lowest place in the literary hierarchy: as regards form, almost always; and as regards moral value, incontestably. It comes after rhyming games and acrostics, which at least require a certain inventiveness.

The morality of art is in its very beauty.

The writer must wade into life as into the sea, but only up to the navel.

What seems beautiful to me, what I should like to write, is a book about nothing, a book dependent on nothing external, which would be held together by the strength of its style, just as the earth, suspended in the void, depends on nothing external for its support.

It's a delicious thing to write. To be no longer yourself but to move in an entire universe of your own creating.