Criticism talks a good deal of nonsense, but even its nonsense is a useful force. It keeps the question of art before the world, insists upon its importance.

I'm yours for ever--for ever and ever. Here I stand; I'm as firm as a rock. If you'll only trust me, how little you'll be disappointed. Be mine as I am yours.

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.

Don't pass it by - the immediate, the real, the ours, the yours, the novelist's that it waits for.

..her smile, which was her pretty feature, was never so pretty as when her sprightly phrase had a scratch lurking in it.

There's no more usual basis of union than mutual misunderstanding.

The only reason for the existence of a novel is that it does attempt to represent life.