It's with bad sentiments that one makes good novels.

A bad book is as much of a labor to write as a good one, it comes as sincerely from the author's soul.

Hell isn't merely paved with good intentions; it's walled and roofed with them. Yes, and furnished too.

Like every other good thing in this world, leisure and culture have to be paid for. Fortunately, however, it is not the leisured and the cultured who have to pay.

Everyone who wants to do good to the human race always ends in universal bullying.

Perhaps it's good for one to suffer. Can an artist do anything if he's happy? Would he ever want to do anything? What is art, after all, but a protest against the horrible inclemency of life?