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Now as of old the gods give men all good things, excepting only those that are baneful and injurious and useless. These, now as of old, are not gifts of the gods: men stumble into them themselves because of their own blindness and folly.

Though men are apt to flatter and exalt themselves with their great achievements, yet these are, in truth, very often owing not so much to design as chance.

When I was young, I assumed that authors must have traveled the world or done exotic things in order to tell great stories.

Great deeds give choice of many tales. Choose a slight tale, enrich it large, and then let wise men listen.

Despite the success cult, men are most deeply moved not by the reaching of the goal but by the grandness of the effort involved in getting there - or failing to get there.

Men have to descend from their pedestal and learn how to be more broadminded and spiritual.

Few things are impracticable in themselves; and it is for want of application, rather than of means, that men fail to succeed.

That's the trouble with stories. People start out fantastic. You think they're extraordinary, but it turns out as the work goes along, they're just average with a good education.