What's in a name? That is what we ask ourselves in childhood when we write the name that we are told is ours.

I have left my book, I have left my room, For I heard you singing Through the gloom.

There's many a true word spoken in jest.

When a man is born...there are nets flung at it to hold it back from flight. You talk to me of nationality, language, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets.

The demand that I make of my reader is that he should devote his whole Life to reading my works.

She respected her husband in the same way as she respected the General Post Office, as something large, secure and fixed: and though she knew the small number of his talents she appreciated his abstract value as a male.

Wipe your glasses with what you know.