I began to feel that if religion was either an illusion or a revelation, it was simpler to accept it as an illusion.

Great loves were almost always great tragedies. Perhaps it was because love was never truly great until the element of sacrifice entered into it.

I believe that the matter is automatically self-regulating; that those women who prefer the home and have an ability for it will eventually return to it; that others, like myself, will compromise; and that still others, temperamentally unfitted for it, will remain in the world to add to its productivity.

having considerable mind, changing it became almost as ponderous an operation as moving a barn, although not nearly so stable.

That is the tragedy of growing old, Chris. You don't leave the world. It leaves you.

The stage on which we play our little dramas of life and love has for most of us but one setting.

it is axiomatic with most writing people that there are no such things as perfect conditions for work.