But it's as if an ever-increasing weight were round their necks; it drags them lower and lower.

The world has no pity on a man who can't do or produce something it thinks worth money.
You may be a divine poet, and if some good fellow doesn't take pity on you you will starve by the roadside.

Society is as blind and brutal as fate.

I have no right to complain of my own ill-fortune; it's my own fault (in a sense) that I can't continue as well as I began; if I could write books as good as the early ones I should earn money.

For all that, it's hard that I must be kicked aside as worthless just because I don't know a trade.' 'It shan't be! I have only to look into your face to know that you will succeed after all.