Up here my eyes are green leaves, unseeing.

Conversation, fastidious goddess, loves blood better than brick, and feasts most subtly on the human will.

To enjoy freedom ... we have of course to control ourselves. We must not squander our powers, helplessly and ignorantly, squirting half the house in order to water a single rose.

If behind the erratic gunfire of the press the author felt that there was another kind of criticism, the opinion of people readingfor the love of reading, slowly and unprofessionally, and judging with great sympathy and yet with great severity, might this not improve the quality of his work? And if by our means books were to become stronger, richer, and more varied, that would be an end worth reaching.

Of the rest some we know to be dead though they walk among us; some are not yet born though they go through the forms of life; others are hundreds of years old though they call themselves thirty-six.

I will go down with my colours flying.

The history of men's opposition to women's emancipation is more interesting perhaps than the story of that emancipation itself.