...The peculiar air of Oxford-the air of liberty to care for the things of the mind assured and secured by machinery which is in itself a satisfaction to sense.

Summer afternoon, summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.

Every good story is of course both a picture and an idea, and the more they are interfused the better.

Experience is never limited, and it is never complete

I know of no substitute whatever for the force and beauty of an artistic process.

It exhibits the effort of an essentially prosaic mind to lift itself, by a prolonged muscular strain, into poetry.

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