We work in the dark - we do what we can - we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion, and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art.

The artist beholds in nature more than she herself Nature is conscious of.

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

Her imagination was by habit ridiculously active; when the door was not open it jumped out the window.

You must save what you can of your life; you musn't lose it all simply because you've lost a part.

The women one meets - what are they but books one has already read? You're a library of the unknown, the uncut. Upon my word I've a subscription.

A solitary maple on a woodside flames in single scarlet, recalls nothing so much as the daughter of a noble house dressed for a fancy ball, with the whole family gathered around to admire her before she goes.