You wanted to look at life for yourself - but you were not allowed; you were punished for your wish. You were ground in the very mill of the conventional.

Make him [the reader] think the evil, make him think it for himself, and you are released from weak specifications.

He was there or was not there: not there if I didn't see him.

Love has nothing to do with good reasons.

The house of fiction has in short not one window, but a million, ... but they are, singly, as nothing without the posted presence of the watcher.

Make (the reader) think the evil, make him think it for himself, and you are released from weak specifications. My values are positively all blanks, save so far as an excited horror, a promoted pity, a created expertness... proceed to read into them more or less fantastic figures.

I call people rich when they're able to meet the requirements of their imagination.