Happiness, happiness ... the flavor is with you-with you alone, and you can make it as intoxicating as you please.

But his soul was mad. Being alone in the wilderness, it had looked within itself and, by heavens I tell you, it had gone mad.

In plucking the fruit of memory one runs the risk of spoiling its bloom, especially if it has got to be carried into the market.

We penetrated deeper and deeper into the heart of darkness

Life knows us not and we do not know life—-we don’t know even our own thoughts. Half the words we use have no meaning whatever and of the other half each man understands each word after the fashion of his own folly and conceit. Faith is a myth and beliefs shift like mists on the shore; thoughts vanish; words, once pronounced, die; and the memory of yesterday is as shadowy as the hope of tomorrow

A historian may be an artist too, and a novelist is a historian, the preserver, the keeper, the expounder, of human experience.

It is very difficult to be wholly joyous or wholly sad on this earth. The comic, when it is human, soon takes upon itself a face of pain; and some of our griefs (some only, not all, for it is the capacity for suffering which makes man August in the eyes of men) have their source in weaknesses which must be recognized with smiling com passion as the common inheritance of us all.