All art is a revolt against man’s fate.

It has always been my practice to cast a long paragraph in a single mold, to try it by my ear, to deposit it in my memory, but to suspend the action of the pen till I had given the last polish to my work.

I cannot live without books, but fewer will suffice where amusement, and not use, is the only future object.

I hate the whole race. There is no believing a word they say—your professional poets, I mean—there never existed a more worthless set than Byron and his friends for example.

Art transcends its limitations only by staying within them.