At first the work had been tolerable from its novelty, but now it grew irksome, and he discovered that he had no aptitude for it, he began to hate it.

He began his work in a rage and ended it in a passion.

A man's work reveals him. In social intercourse he gives you the surface that he wishes the world to accept, but in his book or his picture the real man delivers himself defenceless. No affectation of peculiarity can conceal a commonplace mind. No one can produce the most casual work without disclosing the innermost secrets of his soul.

Success. I don't believe it has any effect on me. For one thing I always expected it.

Most people are such fools that it is really no great compliment to say that someone is above the average.