It is lovely, when I forget all birthdays, including my own, to find that somebody remembers me.
The transcendental point of view, the habit of thought bred by communion with earth and sky, had refined the grain while it had roughened the husk.
it is wiser to be conventionally immoral than unconventionally moral. It isn't the immorality they object to, but the originality.
... the ordinary is simply the universal observed from the surface, that the direct approach to reality is not without, but within. Touch life anywhereand you will touch universality wherever you touch the earth.
Evidently, whatever else marriage might prevent, it was not a remedy for isolation of spirit.
I ain't never seen no head so level that it could bear the lettin' in of politics.
And where was happiness if it sprung not from the soil? Where contentment if it dwelt not near to Nature?
Tilling the fertile soil of man's vanity.
for my own purpose, I defined the art of fiction as experience illuminated.
marriage is mostly puttin' up with things, I reckon, when it ain't makin' believe.
What fools people are when they think they can make two lives belong together by saying words over them.
[Reformers] might be classified as a distinct species having eyes in the back of their heads.
What a man marries for's hard to tell ... an' what a woman marries for's past findin' out.
Experience has taught me that the only cruelties people condemn are those with which they do not happen to be familiar.
the old alone have finality. What is true of the young today may be false tomorrow. They are enveloped in emotion; and emotion as a state of being is fluent and evanescent.
No, one couldn't make a revolution, one couldn't even start a riot, with sheep that asked only for better browsing.
A doctrine of endurance flows easily from our lips when we are enduring jam and our neighbors dry bread, and it is still possible for us to become resigned to the afflictions of our brother.
Nothing, except the weather report or a general maxim of conduct, is so unsafe to rely upon as a theory of fiction.
Nobody, not even the old, not even the despairing, wished to come to an end in time or in eternity.
Cruelty, I truly believe, is the one and only sin.
It would appear, from the best examples, that the proper way of beginning a preface to one's work is with a humble apology for having written at all.
... the life of the mind is reality, and love without romantic illumination is a spiritless matter.
O God, let me write books! Please, God, let me write books!
I suppose I am a born novelist, for the things I imagine are more vital and vivid to me than the things I remember.
The things I feared were not in the sky, but in the nature and in the touch of humanity. The cruelty of children . . . the blindness of the unpitiful - these were my terrors. But not the crash of thunder overhead, not the bolts of fire from the clouds.
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