Curiosity In Rome Is A Form Of

I Am Dead Against Art's Being Self-expression. I See An Inherent Failure In Any Story Which Fails To Detach Itself From The Author-detach Itself In The Sense That A Well-blown Soap-bubble Detaches Itself From The Bowl Of The Blower's Pipe And Spherically Takes Off Into The Air As A New, Whole, Pure, Iridescent World. Whereas The Ill-blown Bubble, As Children Know, Timidly Adheres To The Bowl's Lip, Then Either Bursts Or Sinks Flatly Back Again.

Childish Fantasy, Like The Sheath Over The Bud, Not Only Protects But Curbs The Terrible Budding Spirit, Protects Not Only Innocence From The World, But The World From The Power Of Innocence.

At The Age Of Twelve I Was Finding The World Too Small: It Appeared To Me Like A Dull, Trim Back Garden, In Which Only Trivial Games Could Be Played.

Never To Lie Is To Have No Lock On Your Door, You Are Never Wholly Alone.

All Your Youth You Want To Have Your Greatness Taken For Granted; When You Find It Taken For Granted, You Are Unnerved.