It is so much easier to tell intimate things in the dark.

The artist isn't particularly keen on getting a thing done, as you call it. He gets his pleasure out of doing it, playing with it, fooling with it, if you like. The mere completion of it is an incident.

There is nothing like an odor to stir memories.

Wives invariably flourish when deserted; ... it is the deserting male, the reckless idealist rushing about the world seeking a non-existent felicity, who often ends in disaster.

The world is not interested in the storms you encountered, but did you bring in the ship?

The artist in his teens who is happy is a charlatan. Life comes bursting in all around lis too suddenly, too crudely, too cruelly, for happiness.

A young man must let his ideas grow, not be continually rooting them up to see how they are getting on.