As to honor - you know - it's a very fine mediaeval inheritance which women never got hold of. It wasn't theirs.
To a teacher of languages there comes a time when the world is but a place of many words and man appears a mere talking animal not much more wonderful than a parrot.
The sea - this truth must be confessed - has no generosity. No display of manly qualities - courage, hardihood, endurance, faithfulness - has ever been known to touch its irresponsible consciousness o...
I remembered the old doctor, - It would be interesting for science to watch the mental changes of individuals, on the spot. I felt I was becoming scientifically interesting.
But his soul was mad. Being alone in the wilderness, it had looked within itself and, by heavens I tell you, it had gone mad.
As a general rule, a reputation is built on manner as much as on achievement.
Vanity plays lurid tricks with our memory.
Writing in English is like throwing mud at a wall.
Truth of a modest sort I can promise you, and also sincerity. That complete, praiseworthy sincerity which, while it delivers one into the hands of one's enemies, is as likely as not to embroil one wit...
Perhaps life is just that... a dream and a fear.
Any work that aspires, however humbly, to the condition of art should carry its justification in every line.
There is a taint of death, a flavour of mortality in lies - which is exactly what I hate and detest in the world - what I want to forget.
Necessity, they say, is the mother of invention, but fear, too, is not barren of ingenious suggestions.
My task, which I am trying to achieve is, by the power of the written word, to make you hear, to make you feel--it is, before all, to make you see.
I found myself back in the sepulchral city resenting the sight of people hurrying through the streets to filch a little money from each other, to devour their infamous cookery, to gulp their unwholeso...
A certain simplicity of thought is common to serene souls at both ends of the social scale.
Every age is fed on illusions, lest men should renounce life early and the human race come to an end.
What makes mankind tragic is not that they are the victims of nature, it is that they are conscious of it.
History repeats itself, but the special call of an art which has passed away is never reproduced. It is as utterly gone out of the world as the song of a destroyed wild bird.
They were conquerors, and for that you want only brute force--nothing to boast of, when you have it, since your strength is just an accident arising from the weakness of others.