Distorted realities have always been my cup of tea.
I am not so gifted as at one time seemed likely.
It seemed to her such nonsense-inventing differences, when people, heaven knows, were different enough without that.
At last she shut the book sharply, lay back, and drew a deep breath, expressive of the wonder which always marks the transition from the imaginary world to the real world.
They lack suggestive power. And when a book lacks suggestive power, however hard it hits the surface of the mind it cannot penetrate within.
Money dignifies what is frivolous if unpaid for.
The strange thing about life is that though the nature of it must have been apparent to every one for hundreds of years, no one has left any adequate account of it.
Just in case you ever foolishly forget; I’m never not thinking of you.
The real novelist, the perfectly simple human being, could go on, indefinitely imaging.
It is useless to read Greek in translation; translators can but offer us a vague equivalent.
Methinks the human method of expression by sound of tongue is very elementary, and ought to be substituted for some ingenious invention which should be able to give vent to at least six coherent sentences at once.
When the shriveled skin of the ordinary is stuffed out with meaning, it satisfies the senses amazingly.
It is far harder to kill a phantom than a reality.
To put it in a nutshell, he was afflicted with a love of literature. It was the fatal nature of this disease to substitute a phantom for reality.
Anything may happen when womanhood has ceased to be a protected occupation.
Well, we must wait for the future to show.
The flower bloomed and faded. The sun rose and sank. The lover loved and went. And what the poets said in rhyme, the young translated into practice.
There is the strange power we have of changing facts by the force of the imagination.
I like the unreality of your mind; the whole thing is very splendid and voluptuous and absurd.
One should be a painter. As a writer, I feel the beauty, which is almost entirely colour, very subtle, very changeable, running over my pen, as if you poured a large jug of champagne over a hairpin.