Production with me must be either pleasure or nothing.
As I said just now, I must either stay in the saddle or not go at all.
I won't do second-rate work; I can't if I would.

I have no cleverness, apart from inspiration.

I am not a Gloriani! You are right," he added after a while; "this is unprofitable talk, and it makes my head ache.

I shall take a nap and see if I can dream of a bright idea or two." He turned his face upward to the parasol of the great pine, closed his eyes, and in a short time forgot his sombre fancies.

January though it was, the mild stillness seemed to vibrate with faint midsummer sounds.
Rowland sat listening to them and wishing that, for the sake of his own felicity, Roderick's temper were graced with a certain absent ductility.
He was brilliant, but was he, like many brilliant things, brittle?
Suddenly, to his musing sense, the soft atmospheric hum was overscored with distincter sounds.