love of truth, ordinary common truth recognizable to everyone, is the ruling passion of the novel.
Often with good sentiments we produce bad literature.
The most subtle art, the strongest and deepest art - supreme art - is the one that does not at first allow itself to be recognized.
The finest virtues can become deformed with age. The precise mind becomes finicky; the thrifty man, miserly; the cautious man, timorous; the man of imagination, fanciful. Even perseverance ends up in a sort of stupidity. Just as, on the other hand, being too willing to understand too many opinions, too diverse ways of seeing, constancy is lost and the mind goes astray in a restless fickleness.
Through loyalty to the past, our mind refuses to realize that tomorrow's joy is possible only if today's makes way for it; that each wave owes the beauty of its line only to the withdrawal of the preceding one.
The color of truth is gray.
In other people's company I felt I was dull, gloomy, unwelcome, at once bored and boring.
I'm an activist for gay marriage equality and children's rights. I'm the face of Share Our Strength.
Truly, a life in constant pain is the life of the damned.
All names will soon be restored to their proper owners.
I've nothing against the Queen personally: I had lunch at the Palace once upon a time.