The time-honored bread-sauce of the happy ending.
A man who pretends to understand women is ad manners. For him to really to understand them is bad morals.
The only reason for the existence of a novel is that it does attempt to represent life.
Experience is never limited, and it is never complete; it is an immense sensibility, a kind of huge spider-web of the finest silken threads suspended in the chamber of consciousness, and catching every air-borne particle in its tissue.
In art economy is always beauty.
Cats and monkeys; monkeys and cats; all human life is there.
To read between the lines was easier than to follow the text.
Deep experience is never peaceful.