...the remembrance even of joy having its bitterness, and the memories of pleasure their pain.

Pain is not the ultimate mode of perfection. It is merely provisional and a protest. It has reference to wrong, unhealthy, unjust surroundings. When the wrong, and the disease, and the injustice are removed, it will have no further place. It will have done its work. It was a great work, but it is almost over. Its sphere lessens every day.

Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons. We can only record its moods, and chronicle their return.

There is something very morbid about modern sympathy with pain.

It is rarely in the world's history that its ideal has been one of joy and beauty. The worship of pain has far more often dominated the world.

My writing has gone to bits - like my character. I am simply a self-conscious nerve in pain.