Truth of a modest sort I can promise you, and also sincerity. That complete, praiseworthy sincerity which, while it delivers one into the hands of one's enemies, is as likely as not to embroil one with one's friends.

A writer without interest or sympathy for the foibles of his fellow man is not conceivable as a writer.

We live as we dream - alone. While the dream disappears, the life continues painfully.

All ambitions are lawful except those which climb upward on the miseries or credulities of mankind.

Each blade of grass has its spot on earth whence it draws its life, its strength; and so is man rooted to the land from which he draws his faith together with his life.

We can never cease to be ourselves.

All one's work might have been better done; but this is a sort of reflection a worker must put aside courageously if he doesn't mean every one of his conceptions to remain forever a private vision, an evanescent reverie.