There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.
Affection is created by habit, community of interests, convenience and the desire of companionship. It is a comfort rather than an exhilaration.
Loving-kindness is the better part of goodness. It lends grace to the sterner qualities of which this consists.
An art is only great and significant if it is one that all may enjoy. The art of a clique is but a plaything.
By the time an actor knows how to act any sort of part he is often too old to act any but a few.
The audience is a very curious animal. It is shrewd rather than intelligent. Its mental capacity is less than that of its most intellectual members.
The audience is not the least important actor in the play and if it will not do its allotted share the play falls to pieces.
It is astonishing how many books I find there is no need for me to read at all.
Women’s hearts are like old china, none the worse for a break or two.
Genius is talent provided with ideals.
It is an illusion that youth is happy, an illusion of those who have lost it; but the young know they are wretched for they are full of the truthless ideals which have been instilled in them, and each time they come into contact with the real, they are bruised and wounded.
With the superciliousness of extreme youth, I put thirty-five as the utmost limit at which a man might fall in love without making a fool of himself.
Her tears were partly tears of happiness, for she felt that the strangeness between them was gone. She loved him now with a new love because he had made her suffer.
Unfortunately sometimes one can’t do what one thinks is right without making someone else unhappy.
There are times when I look over the various parts of my character with perplexity. I recognize that I am made up of several persons and that the person that at the moment has the upper hand will inevitably give place to another. But which is the real one? All of them or none?
From old habit, unconsciously he thanked God that he no longer believed in Him.
She had no mercy. He looked at her neck and thought how he would like to jab it with the knife he had for his muffin. He knew enough anatomy to make pretty certain of getting the carotid artery. And at the same time he wanted to cover her pale, thin face with kisses.
The Riviera isn’t only a sunny place for shady people.
Success. I don’t believe it has any effect on me. For one thing I always expected it.
When things are at their worst, I find something always happens.
The humorist has a good eye for the humbug; he does not always recognize the saint.