There can be no doubt, I thought, pushing aside the newspaper, that our mean lives, unsightly as they are, put on splendour and have meaning only under the eyes of love

“Women and fiction remain, so far as I am concerned, unsolved problems.”

“The wind blew, from what quarter I know not, but it lifted the half-grown leave…”

“Therefore I would ask you to write all kinds of books, hesitating at no subject…”

“She was a fly, but the others were dragonflies, butterflies, beautiful insects,…”