A good rule for writers: do not explain overmuch.

I've met so many people, often the scum of the earth, and found them, you know, quite decent. I am an uncomfortable stranger to moral indignation.

She alone had been blind to his merit. Why? Because he loved her and she did not love him. What was it in the human heart that made you despise a man because he loved you?

The artist produces for the liberation of his soul.

The subjunctive mood is in its death throes, and the best thing to do is to put it out of its misery as soon as possible.

The tragedy of love is not death or separation. How long do you think it would have been before one or other of them ceased to care? Oh, it is dreadfully bitter to look at a woman whom you have loved with all your heart and soul, so that you felt you could not bear to let her out of your sight, and realize that you would not mind if you never saw her again. The tragedy of love is indifference.

Life is really very fantastic, and one has to have a peculiar sense of humour to see the fun of it. [Virtue]