In museums and palaces we are alternate radicals and conservatives.

One is oneself a fine consequence.

One might enumerate the items of high civilization, as it exists in other countries, which are absent from the texture of American life, until it should become a wonder to know what was left.

One of my latest sensations was going to Lady Airlie's to hear Browning read his own poems - with the comport of finding that, at least, if you don't understand them, he himself apparently understands them even less. He read them as if he hated them and would like to bite them to pieces.

The time-honored bread-sauce of the happy ending.

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

Nothing, of course, will ever take the place of the good old fashion of 'liking' a work of art or not liking it; the more improved criticism will not abolish that primitive, that ultimate, test.