The English country-gentleman galloping after a fox — the unspeakable in full pursuit of the uneatable.

When I think of all the harm [the Bible] has done, I despair of ever writing anything to equal it.

The English have a miraculous power of turning wine into water.

But beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins. Intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid. Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions. How perfectly hideous they are! Except, of course, in the Church. But then in the Church they don't think.

Oh! I don't think I would like to catch a sensible man. I shouldn't know what to talk to him about.

Mr. Henry James writes fiction as if it were a painful duty.

You have killed my love. You used to stir my imagination. Now you don't even stir my curiosity. You simply produce no effect. I loved you because you were marvelous, because you had genius and intellect, because you realized the dreams of great poets and gave shape and substance to the shadows of art. You have thrown it all away. You are shallow and stupid