One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

I am volatile for one, rigid for another, angular as an icicle in silver, or voluptuous as a candle flame in gold.

It is no use trying to sum people up.

Who would not spout the family teapot in order to talk with Keats for an hour about poetry, or with Jane Austen about the art of fiction?

People ask me why I write. I write to find out what I know.

This is not writing at all. Indeed, I could say that Shakespeare surpasses literature altogether, if I knew what I meant.

Well, we must wait for the future to show.