...it Will Always Remain My Private Persuasion

I Say What Other People Only Think, And When All The Rest Of The World Is In A Conspiracy To Accept The Mask For The True Face, Mine Is The Rash Hand That Tears Off The Plump Pasteboard And Shows The Bare Bones Beneath.

The Future Of English Fiction May Rest With This Unknown Public - A Reading Public Of Three Millions Which Lies Right Out Of The Pale Of True Literary Civilization - Which Is Now Waiting To Be Taught The Difference Between A Good Book And A Bad.

The Woman Who First Gives Life, Light, And Form To Our Shadowy Conceptions Of Beauty, Fills A Void In Our Spiritual Nature That Has Remained Unknown To Us Till She Appeared.

I Have Always Held The Old-fashioned Opinion That The Primary Object Of Work Of Fiction Should Be To Tell A Story.

I Haven't Much Time To Be Fond Of Anything ... But When I Have A Moment's Fondness To Bestow, Most Times ... The Roses Get It. I Began My Life Among Them In My Father's Nursery Garden, And I Shall End My Life Among Them, If I Can. Yes. One Of These Days (please God) I Shall Retire From Catching Thieves, And Try My Hand At Growing Roses.