At Moments We Are All Artists.

Essential Characteristic Of The Really Great Novelist: A Christ-like, All-embracing Compassion.

Every Scene, Even The Commonest, Is Wonderful, If Only One Can Detach Oneself, Casting Off All Memory Of Use And Custom, And Behold It (as It Were) For The First Time; In Its Right, Authentic Colors; Without Making Comparisons. Cherish And Burnish This Faculty Of Seeing Crudely, Simply, Artlessly, Ignorantly; Of Seeing Like A Baby Or A Lunatic, Who Lives Each Moment By Itself And Tarnishes By The Present No Remembrance Of The Past.

Mother Is Far Too Clever To Understand Anything She Does Not Like.

Time Is The Inexplicable Raw Material Of Everything. With It, All Is Possible, Without It Nothing. The Supply Of Time Is Truly A Daily Miracle, An Affair Genuinely Astonishing When One Examines It.

Worry Is Evidence Of An Ill-controlled Brain; It Is Merely A Stupid Waste Of Time In Unpleasantness.