Since you are now studying geometry and trigonometry, I will give you a problem. A ship sails the ocean. It left Boston with a cargo of wool. It grosses 200 tons. It is bound for Le Havre. The mainmast is broken, the cabin boy is on deck, there are 12 passengers aboard, the wind is blowing East-North-East, the clock points to a quarter past three in the afternoon. It is the month of May. How old is the captain?

Success is a consequence and must not be a goal.

Emma was no asleep, she was pretending to be asleep; and, while he was dozing off at her side, she lay awake, dreaming other dreams.

Poetry is as precise a thing as geometry.

I hate that which we have decided to call realism, even though I have been made one of its high priests.

Everything one invents is true, you may be perfectly sure of that. Poetry is as precise as geometry.

The public wants work which flatters its illusions.