Don't laugh at youth for his affectations; he is only trying on one face after another to find his own.

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

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

Fine writers should split hairs together, and sit side by side, like friendly apes, to pick the fleas from each others fur.

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.

The lusts and greeds of the body scandalize the Soul; but it has to come to heel.

We grow with years more fragile in body, but morally stutter, and can throw off the chill of a bad conscience almost at once.