If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad. As to that regular, uninterrupted love of writing. I do not understand it. I feel it as a torture, which I must get rid of, but never as a pleasure. On the contrary, I think composition a great pain.
Damn description, it is always disgusting.
Since Eve ate the apple, much depends on dinner.
One of the pleasures of reading old letters is the knowledge that they need no answer.
Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; the best of life is but intoxication.
There is no traitor like him whose domestic treason plants the poniard within the breast that trusted to his truth