If you can tell stories, create characters, devise incidents, and have sincerity and passion, it doesn't matter a damn how you write.

Imagination grows by exercise, and contrary to common belief, is more powerful in the mature than in the young.

Only mediocre people are at the best all the time.

I'm not only my spirit buy my body, and who can decide how much I, my individual self, am conditioned by the accident of my body? Would Byron have been Byron but for his club foot, or Dostoyevsky Dostoyevsky without his epilepsy?

Perfection is a trifle dull. It is not the least of life's ironies that this, which we all aim at, is better not quite achieved.

I can only guess that it made the world he went back to...strangely without meaning. Though he lived in it, though he even enjoyed it, it remained utterly remote. I think it had lost sense for him. In his heart was the reflection of a lovely dream that he could never quite recall.

Marriage is a very good thing, but I think it's a mistake to make a habit out of it.