A Novel Is An Impression, Not An

A Lover Without Indiscretion Is No Lover At All.

But No One Came. Because No One Ever Does.

That Man's Silence Is Wonderful To Listen To.

Somebody Might Have Come Along That Way Who Would Have Asked Him His Trouble, And Might Have Cheered Him By Saying That His Notions Were Further Advanced Than Those Of His Grammarian. But Nobody Did Come, Because Nobody Does; And Under The Crushing Recognition Of His Gigantic Error Jude Continued To Wish Himself Out Of The World.

The Main Object Of Religion Is Not To Get A Man Into Heaven, But To Get Heaven Into Him.