If I were to live my life over again, I would be an American. I would steep myself in America, I would know no other land.

She took refuge on the firm ground of fiction, through which indeed there curled the blue river of truth.

Keep making the movements of life.

The power to guess the unseen from the seen, to trace the implications of things, to judge the whole piece by the pattern . . . this cluster of gifts may almost be said to constitute experience.

Make him [the reader] think the evil, make him think it for himself, and you are released from weak specifications.

It doesn't so much matter what you do in particular, so long as you have your life.

It had been agreed between them that lighted candles at wayside inns, in strange countries amid mountain scenery, gave the evening meal a peculiar poetry.