The Artist Is Present In Every Page

To Kill A Human Being Is, After All, The Least Injury You Can Do Him.

Women Never Dine Alone. When They Dine Alone They Don't Dine.

London Doesn't Love The Latent Or The Lurking, Has Neither Time, Nor Taste, Nor Sense For Anything Less Discernible Than The Red Flag In Front Of The Steam-roller. It Wants Cash Over The Counter And Letters Ten Feet High.

The Advantage, The Luxury, As Well As The Torment And Responsibility Of The Novelist, Is That There Is No Limit To What He May Attempt As An Executant - No Limit To His Possible Experiments, Efforts, Discoveries, Successes.

The Time-honored Bread-sauce Of The Happy Ending.