“Ah, Sir, a novel is a mirror carried along a high road. At one moment it reflects to your vision the azure skies, at another the mire of the puddles at your feet. And the man who carries this mirror in his pack will be accused by you of being immoral! His mirror shews the mire, and you blame the mirror! Rather blame that high road upon which the puddle lies, still more the inspector of roads who allows the water to gather and the puddle to form.”
“A novel is a mirror walking along a main road.”
“A novel is a mirror walking down a road”
“Many truths which are not believed are called lies,' the Laughing Beast said. 'Mirrors do not themselves lie unless they have been enchanted. Ordinary mirrors merely reflect what is revealed to them. People lie and mirrors reflect people. If your mother feared mirrors in your land, she feared herself.”
“Mankind has invented the mirror in vain, for there’s nobody in this world who looks into the mirror and sees himself as he truly is; each person has his own mirror hidden in his own mind and he can’t see more than what that mirror in his mind reflects!”
“But there was the mirror in which I would glimpse his handsome form, because mirrors don't lie about men, only women.”