If woman had no existence save in the fiction written by men, one would imagine her a person of utmost importance; very various; heroic and mean; splendid and sordid; infinitely beautiful and hideous in the extreme; as great as a man; some think even greater.

Wat a vast fertility of pleasure books hold for me! I went in and found the table laden with books. I looked in and sniffed them all. I could not resist carrying this one off and broaching it. I think I could happily live here and read forever.

One can only believe entirely, perhaps, in what one cannot see.

. . . to walk alone in London is the greatest rest.

People only become writers if they can't find the one book they've always wanted to read.

But beauty must be broken daily to remain beautiful.

But then anyone who's worth anything reads just what he likes, as the mood takes him, and with extravagant enthusiasm.