A reader is not supposed to be aware that someone's written the story. He's supposed to be completely immersed, submerged in the environment.

Happiness is fugitive; dissatisfaction and boredom are real.

I suspect that the word (art) was invented by second-rate intelligences to describe the incomprehensible activities of their betters.

I was an omnivore at reading, so that everything I ever read contributed.

In the end, death came uniformly to all, and all extracted as much satisfaction from their dying as this essentially graceless process could afford.

What is an evil man? The man is evil who coerces obedience to his private ends, destroys beauty, produces pain, extinguishes life.

Beauty is a luster which love bestows to guile the eye. Therefore it may be said that only when the brain is without love will the eye look and see no beauty.