If you haven't had your life what have you had?
He valued life and literature equally for the light they threw upon each other; to his mind one implied the other; he was unable to conceive of them apart.
The visible world is but man turned inside out that he may be revealed to himself.
The only reason for the existence of a novel is that it does attempt to represent life.
To believe in a child is to believe in the Future.
If the artist is necessarily sensitive, does that sensitiveness form in its essence a state constantly liable to shade off into the morbid? Does this liability, moreover, increase in proportion as the effort is great and the ambition intense?