To be wholly devoted to some intellectual exercise is to have succeeded in life.

I lived on rum, I tell you. It's been meat and drink, and man and wife, to me.

Wealth I ask not, hope nor love, Nor a friend to know me; All I seek, the heaven above And the road below me.

It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men's hearts, as for that subtle something, that quality of air that emanation from old trees, that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit.

Everybody, soon or late, sits down to a banquet of consequences.

The web, then, or the pattern, a web at once sensuous and logical, an elegant and pregnant texture: that is style, that is the foundation of the art of literature.

To be what we are, and to become what we are capable of becoming, is the only end of life.