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

We neither know nor judge ourselves; others may judge, but cannot know us. God alone judges and knows us.

Habits of literary composition are perfectly familiar to me. One of the rarest of all the intellectual accomplishments that a man can possess is the grand faculty of arranging his ideas. Immense privilege! I possess it. Do you?

Some of us rush through life, and some of us saunter through life. Mrs Vesey sat through life.

The evening advanced. The shadows lengthened. The waters of the lake grew pitchy black. The gliding of the ghostly swans became rare and more rare.

Our words are giants when they do us an injury, and dwarfs when they do us a service.

We had our breakfasts--whatever happens in a house, robbery or murder, it doesn't matter, you must have your breakfast.