I say what other people only think, and when all the rest of the world is in a conspiracy to accept the mask for the true face, mine is the rash hand that tears off the plump pasteboard and shows the bare bones beneath.

Where is the woman who has ever really torn from her heart the image that has been once fixed in it by a true love? Books tell us that such unearthly creatures have existed - but what does our own experiences say in answer to books?

The future of English fiction may rest with this Unknown Public - a reading public of three millions which lies right out of the pale of true literary civilization - which is now waiting to be taught the difference between a good book and a bad.

I have always held the old-fashioned opinion that the primary object of work of fiction should be to tell a story.

I haven't much time to be fond of anything. But when I have a moment's fondness to bestow, most times the roses get it.

I am not against hasty marriages where a mutual flame is fanned by an adequate income.

Men little know when they say hard things to us how well we remember them, and how much harm they do us.