... why do people who live in the country always give themselves such airs?

Nothing has really happened until it has been recorded.

The art of writing has for backbone some fierce attachment to an idea.

But Time, unfortunately, though it makes animals and vegetables bloom and fade with amazing punctuality has no such simple effect upon the mind of man.

I am writing to a rhythm and not to a plot.

For once the disease of reading has laid upon the system it weakens so that it falls an easy prey to that other scourge which dwells in the ink pot and festers in the quill. The wretch takes to writing.

There are no teachers, saints, prophets, good people, but the artists.