I [Death] was astonished to see him in Baghdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.

You can never know enough about your characters

Art is merely the refuge which the ingenious have invented, when they were supplied with food and women, to escape the tediousness of life.

We do not write as we want, but as we can.

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?

A good story is obviously a difficult thing to invent, but its difficulty is a poor reason for despising it.

I have always been convinced that if a woman once made up her mind to marry a man, nothing but instant flight could save him.