With the superciliousness of extreme youth, I put thirty-five as the utmost limit at which a man might fall in love without making a fool of himself.

Just as the painter thinks with his brush and paints the novelist thinks with his story.

He is not famous. It may be that he never will be. It may be that when his life at last comes to an end he will leave no more trace of his sojourn on earth than a stone thrown into a river leaves on the surface of the water. But it may be that the way of life that he has chosen for himself and the peculiar strength and sweetness of his character may have an ever-growing influence over his fellow men so that, long after his death perhaps, it may be realized that there lived in this age a very remarkable creature.

It is not difficult to be unconventional in the eyes of the world when your unconventionality is but the convention of your set.

The most valuable thing I have learned from life is to regret nothing.

She loved three things — a joke, a glass of wine, and a handsome man.

By the time a man notices that he is no longer young, his youth has long since left him.