Meanwhile, the trees were just as green as before; the birds sang and the sun shone as clearly now as ever. The familiar surroundings had not darkened because of her grief, nor sickened because of her pain. She might have seen that what had bowed her head so profoundly -the thought of the world's concern at her situation- was found on an illusion. She was not an existence, an experience, a passion, a structure of sensations, to anybody but herself.

My wicked heart will ramble on in spite of myself. (Arabella)

A novel is an impression, not an argument; and there the matter must rest.

It was the touch of the imperfect upon the would-be perfect that gave the sweetness, because it was that which gave the humanity

The main object of religion is not to get a man into heaven, but to get heaven into him.

The business of the poet and the novelist is to show the sorriness underlying the grandest things and the grandeur underlying the sorriest things.

Thoroughly convinced of the impossibility of his own suit, a high resolve constrained him not to injure that of another. This is a lover's most stoical virtue, as the lack of it is a lover's most venial sin.