He was a youth to the end of his days He was not bored because he would not be He had no time to make money He was not constructive; he was essentially observant He might walk home with her if he would not seem to do so He's so resting He's the same kind of a man that he was a boy Heart of youth aching for their stoical sorrows Heighten our suffering by anticipation Heroic lies His readers trusted and loved him His plays were too bad for the stage, or else too good for it His coming almost killed her, but it was worth it His remembrance absolutely ceased with an event Historian, who is a kind of inferior realist Holiday literature Hollow hilarities which people use to mask their indifference Hollowness, the hopelessness, the unworthiness of life Honest men are few when it comes to themselves Honesty is difficult Hopeful apathy in his face Hospitable gift of making you at home with him I do not think any man ought to live by an art I did not know, and I hated to ask If one were poor, one ought to be deserving If he was half as bad, he would have been too bad to be If one must, it ought to be champagne If he has not enjoyed writing no one will enjoy reading Imitators of one another than of nature Impropriety if not indecency promises literary success In the South there was nothing but a mistaken social ideal In school there was as little literature then as there is now Incoherencies of people meeting after a long time Incredible in their insipidity Industrial slavery Inexhaustible flow of statement, conjecture and misgiving Inexperience takes this effect (literary lewdness) for reality Insatiable English fancy for the wild America no longer there Insensate pride that mothers have in their children's faults Intellectual poseurs Intent upon some point in the future It was mighty pretty, as Pepys would say Joyful shame of children who have escaped punishment Kept her talking vacuities when her heart was full Kindness and gentleness are never out of fashion Kissing goes by favor, in literature as in life Languages, while they live, are perpetually changing Led a life of public seclusion Left him to do what the cat might Let fiction cease to lie about life Lewd literature seems to give a sanction to lewdness in the life Lie, of course, and did to save others from grief or harm Life alone is credible to the young Liked to find out good things and great things for himself Literature beautiful only through the intelligence Literature is Business as well as Art Literature has no objective value Little knot of conscience between her pretty eyebrows Lived a thousand little lies every day Livy: Well, if you are to be lost, I want to be lost with you Livy Clemens: the loveliest person I have ever seen Long-puerilized fancy will bear an endless repetition Long breath was not his; he could not write a novel Look of challenge, of interrogation, almost of reproof Looked as if Destiny had sat upon it Love of freedom and the hope of justice Luxury of helplessness