Doubt … Is An Illness That Comes

[t]he Truth Is That Fullness Of Soul Can Sometimes Overflow In Utter Vapidity Of Language, For None Of Us Can Ever Express The Exact Measure Of His Needs Or His Thoughts Or His Sorrows; And Human Speech Is Like A Cracked Kettle On Which We Tap Crude Rhythms For Bears To Dance To, While We Long To Make Music That Will Melt The Stars.

There Are Neither Good Nor Bad Subjects. From The Point Of View Of Pure Art, You Could Almost Establish It As An Axiom That The Subject Is Irrelevant, Style Itself Being An Absolute Manner Of Seeing Things.

Of All The Icy Blasts That Blow On Love, A Request For Money Is The Most Chilling.

She Wanted To Die, But She Also Wanted To Live In Paris.

You Must Write For Yourself, Above All. That Is Your Only Hope Of Creating Something Beautiful.