The indefatigable pursuit of an unattainable perfection …***…is what alone gives meaning to our life on this unavailing star.

One late winter afternoon in Oxford Street, amid the noise of vehicles and voices that filled that dusky thoroughfare, as I was borne onward with the crowd past the great electric-lighted shops, a holy Indifference...

How many of our daydreams would darken into nightmaresif there seemed any danger of their coming true!

Every author, however modest, keeps a most outrageous vanity chained like a madman in the padded cell of his breast.

What I like in a good author is not what he says, but what he whispers.

People say that life is the thing, but I prefer reading.

The notion of making money by popular work, and then retiring to do good work, is the most familiar of all the devil’s traps for artists.