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A religious awakening which does not awaken the sleeper to love has roused him in vain.

We can love an honest rogue, but what is more offensive than a false saint?

You make what seems a simple choice: choose a man or a job or a neighborhood- and what you have chosen is not a man or a job or a neighborhood, but a life.

It is the loving, not the loved, woman who feels loveable.

Nothing is so dear as what you're about to leave.

One can write out of love or hate. Hate tells one a great deal about a person. Love makes one become the person. Love, contrary to legend, is not half as blind, at least for writing purposes, as hate. Love can see the evil and not cease to be love. Hate cannot see the good and remain hate. The writer, writing out of hatred, will, thus, paint a far more partial picture than if he had written out of love.