Any woman who is sure of her own wits, is a match, at any time, for a man who is not sure of his own temper.

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.

The books - the generous friends who met me without suspicion - the merciful masters who never used me ill!

The mystery which underlies the beauty of women is never raised above the reach of all expression until it has claimed kindred with the deeper mystery in our own souls.

But, ah me! where is the faultless human creature who can persevere in a good resolution, without sometimes failing and falling back?

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

She looked so irresistibly beautiful as she said those brave words that no man alive could have steel his heart against her.