In this choice, as I look back over more than half a century, I can only follow – and trust – the same sort of instinct that one follows in the art of fiction.

But the mind travels far – and mysteriously – in sleep.

Customers must be delicately angled for at a safe distance – show yourself too much, and, like trout, they flashed away.

To reconceive the Christ! It is the special task of our age...

A victim to certain obscure forms of gout, he was in character neither stupid, nor inhuman, but he suffered from the usual drawbacks of his class, – too much money, and too few ideas.

Nothing ought to be told, I think that does not interest or kindle one’s own mind in looking back; it is the only condition on which one can hope to interest or kindle other minds.

Do we all become garrulous and confidential as we approach the gates of old age? Is it that we instinctively feel, and cannot help asserting, our one advantage over the younger generation, which has so many over us? – the one advantage of time!

The only thing which can keep journalism alive – journalism, which is born of the moment, serves the moment, and, as a rule, dies with the moment – is – again the Stevensonian secret! – charm.

City of rest! – as it seems to our modern senses, – how is it possible that so busy, so pitiless and covetous a life as history shows us, should have gone to the making and the fashioning of Venice!

It is the rank and file – the average woman – for whom the world has opened up so astonishingly.