Hope Costs Nothing.

To Write Is To Pour One’s Innermost Self Passionately Upon The Tempting Paper, At Such Frantic Speed That Sometimes One’s Hand Struggles And Rebels, Overdriven By The Impatient God Which Guides It - And To Find, Next Day, In Place Of The Golden Bough That Bloomed Miraculously In That Dazzling Hour, A Withered Bramble And A Stunted Flower.

You Do Not Notice Changes In What Is Always Before You.

Never Touch A Butterfly's Wing With Your Finger.

In The Matter Of Furnishing, I Find A Certain Absence Of Ugliness Far Worse Than Ugliness.

The Only Virtue On Which I Pride Myself Is My Self-doubt; When A Writer Loses Her Self-doubt, The Time Has Come To Lay Aside Her Pen.