Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.
But I hate things all fiction... there should always be some foundation of fact for the most airy fabric - and pure invention is but the talent of a liar.
Self-love for ever creeps out, like a snake, to sting anything which happens to stumble upon it.
Land of lost gods and godlike men.
This is to be along; this, this is solitude!
One hates an author that's all author.