I Ain't Got Time To Learn. I

There Is A Popular Superstition That "realism" Asserts Itself In The Cataloguing Of A Great Number Of Material Objects, In Explaining Mechanical Processes, The Methods Of Operating Manufactories And Trades, And In Minutely And Unsparingly Describing Physical Sensations. But Is Not Realism, More Than It Is Anything Else, An Attitude Of Mind On The Part Of The Writer Toward His Material, A Vague Indication Of The Sympathy And Candour With Which He Accepts, Rather Than Chooses, His Theme?

The History Of Every Country Begins In The Heart Of A Man Or A Woman.

Art And Religion (they Are The Same Thing, In The End, Of Course) Have Given Man The Only Happiness He Has Ever Had.

How Terrible It Was To Love People When You Could Not Really Share Their Lives!

She Had Only To Stand In The Orchard, To Put Her Hand On A Little Crab Tree And Look Up At The Apples, To Make You Feel The Goodness Of Planting And Tending And Harvesting At Last.