The great art of writing is the art of making people real to themselves with words.

There are people whose society I find delicious; but when I sit alone and think of them I shudder.

Whiskey has killed more men than bullets, but most men would rather be full of whiskey than bullets.

Only those who get into scrapes with their eyes open can find the safe way out.

Only among people who think no evil can Evil monstrously flourish.

The emergence of a new term to describe a certain phenomenon, of a new adjective to designate a certain quality, is always of interest, both linguistically and from the point of view of the history of human thought.

What things there are to write, if one could only write them! My mind is full of gleaming thought; gay moods and mysterious, moth-like meditations hover in my imagination, fanning their painted wings. But always the rarest, those streaked with azure and the deepest crimson, flutter away beyond my reach.