For Truth Is Precious And Divine, Too

Virtue Knows That It Is Impossible To Get On Without Compromise, And Tunes Herself, As It Were, A Trifle Sharp To Allow For An Inevitable Fall In Playing.

Think Of And Look At Your Work As Though It Were Done By Your Enemy. I You Look At It To Admire It, You Are Lost.

Every Man's Work, Whether It Be Literature, Or Music Or Pictures Or Architecture Or Anything Else, Is Always A Portrait Of Himself.

[p]oetry Resembles Metaphysics: One Does Not Mind One's Own, But One Does Not Like Anyone Else's.

Books Want To Be Born: I Never Make Them. They Come To Me And Insist On Being Written, And On Being Such And Such.