In this choice, as I look back over more than half a century, I can only follow - and trust - the same sort of instinct that one follows in the art of fiction.
Is there any other slavery and chain like that of temperament?
For after my marriage I had made various attempts to write fiction. They were clearly failures.
But the mind travels far - and mysteriously - in sleep.
But no man has a monopoly of conscience.
City of rest! - as it seems to our modern senses, - how is it possible that so busy, so pitiless and covetous a life as history shows us, should have gone to the making and the fashioning of Venice!