Facts must be manipulated; some must be brightened; others shaded; yet, in the process, they must never lose their integrity.

We insist, it seems, on living.

The older one grows, the more one likes indecency.

If it were now to die, 'twere now to be most happy.

It seems as if an age of genius must be succeeded by an age of endeavour; riot and extravagance by cleanliness and hard work.

Green in nature is one thing, green in literature another. Nature and letters seem to have a natural antipathy; bring them together and they tear each other to pieces.

I feel my brains, like a pear, to see if it's ripe; it will be exquisite by September.