The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit, showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us.

The seeming significance of nature's appearances, their unchanging strangeness to the senses, and the thrilling response which they awaken in the mind of man . . . If we could only write near enough to the facts, and yet with no pedestrian calm, but ardently, we might transfer the glamour of reality direct upon our pages.

The world has no room for cowards. We must all be ready somehow to toil, to suffer, to die.

The difficulty is not to write, but to write what you mean.

I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move.

When a torrent sweeps a man against a boulder, you must expect him to scream, and you need not be surprised if the scream is sometimes a theory.

and he began to understand what a wild game we play in life; he began to understand that a thing once done cannot be undone nor changed by saying "I am sorry!