He knew that all things human are transitory and therefore that it must cease one day or another. He looked forward to that day with eager longing. Love was like a parasite in his heart, nourishing a hateful existence on his life's blood; it absorbed his existence so intensely that he could take pleasure in nothing else.

I happen to think we’ve set our ideal on the wrong objects; I happen to think that the greatest ideal man can set before himself is self-perfection.

Self-control might be as passionate and as active as the surrender to passion.

A mother only does her children harm if she makes them the only concern of her life.

The ideas for stories that thronged my brain would not let me rest till I had got rid of them by writing them.

You can do anything in this world if you are prepared to take the consequences.

There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.