Love is not a hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind. A wild...

Really,” said Winifred suddenly; “it almost seems like Fate. Only that’s so old-fashioned.

Youth to youth, like the dragon-flies chasing each other, and love like the sun warming them through and through.

Justice is a machine that, when someone has once given it the starting push, rolls on of itself. – John Galsworthy, Justice [1910], act II

Mechanism! Everywhere — mechanism! Devices for getting away from life so complete that there seemed no life to get away from.

He might wish and wish and never get it – the beauty and the loving in the world!

It was such a spring day as breathes into a man an ineffable yearning, a painful sweetness, a longing that makes him stand motionless, looking at the leaves or grass, and fling out his arms...

Men are in fact, quite unable to control their own inventions; they at best develop adaptability to the new conditions those inventions create.

Dreaming is the poetry of Life, and we must be forgiven if we indulge in it a little.

Life calls the tune, we dance.