Woe to the man whose heart has not learned while young to hope, to love - and to put its trust in life.

It is my belief no man ever understands quite his own artful dodges to escape from the grim shadow of self knowledge.

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

A task, any task, undertaken in an adventurous spirit acquires the merit of romance.

You can't, in sound morals, condemn a man for taking care of his own integrity. It is his clear duty.

Resignation, not mystic, not detached, but resignation open-eyed, conscious, and informed by love, is the only one of our feelings for which it is impossible to become a sham.

When one has got to make correct entries, one comes to hate those savages--hate them to the death.