No Great Talker Ever Did Any Great

Nature I Believe In. True Art Aims To, Represent Men And Women, Not As My Little Self Would Have Them, But As They Appear. My Heroes And Heroines I Want Not Extreme Types, All Good Or All Bad; But Human, Mortal--partly Good, Partly Bad. Realism I Need. Pure Mental Abstractions Have No Significance For Me.

Christianity Has Ever Been The Enemy Of Human Love; It Has Forever Cursed And Expelled And Crucified The One Passion Which Sweetens And Smiles On Human Life, Which Makes The Desert Blossom As The Rose, And Which Glorifies The Common Things And Common Ways Of Earth. It Made Of This, The Angel Of Life, A Shape Of Sin And Darkness ... Even In The Unions Which It Reluctantly Permitted, It Degraded And Dwarfed The Passion Which It Could Not Entirely Exclude, And Permitted It Coarsely To Exist For The Mere Necessity Of Procreation.

Could We See When And Where We Are To Meet Again, We Would Be More Tender When We Bid Our Friends Goodbye.

It Is The North Wind That Lashes Men Into Vikings; It Is The Soft, Luscious South Wind Which Lulls Them To Lotus Dreams.

A Man May Be A Great Statesman, And Yet Dislike His Wife, And Like Somebody Else's. A Man May Be A Great Hero, And Yet He May Have An Unseemly Passion, Or An Unpaid Tailor. But The British Public Does Not Understand This. ... It Thinks, Unhappily Or Happily As You May Choose To Consider, That Genius Should Keep The Whole Ten Commandments. Now, Genius Is Conspicuous For Breaking Them.