I believe the novella is the perfect form of prose fiction. It is the beautiful daughter of a rambling, bloated ill-shaven giant (but a giant who's a genius on his best days).

That love which does not build a foundation on good sense is doomed.

It was always the view of my parents...that hot weather encouraged loose morals among young people.

Love doesn't grow at a steady rate, but advances in surges, bolts, wild leaps, and this was one of those.

There are ways in which art can have a longer reach than politics.

By concentrating on what is good in people, by appealing to their idealism and their sense of justice, and by asking them to put their faith in the future, socialists put themselves at a severe disadvantage.

...beauty, she had discovered occupied a narrow band. Ugliness, on the hand, had infinite variation.