Art without life is a poor affair.

Her reputation for reading a great deal hung about her like the cloudy envelope of a goddess in an epic.

I intend to judge things for myself; to judge wrongly, I think, is more honorable than not to judge at all.

Experience is never limited, and it is never complete; it is an immense sensibility, a kind of huge spider-web of the finest silken threads suspended in the chamber of consciousness, and catching every air-borne particle in its tissue.

One is oneself a fine consequence.

Ideas are, in truth, forces. Infinite, too, is the power of personality. A union of the two always makes history.

The "germ," wherever gathered, has ever been for me, "the germ of a story," and most of the stories strained to shape under my hand have sprung from a single small seed, a seed as remote and windblown as a casual hint.