I Cannot Abide The Mr. And Mrs.

Women, Like Men, Ought To Have Their Years So Glutted With Freedom That They Hate The Very Idea Of Freedom.

Flowers Really Do Intoxicate Me.

Among The Many Problems Which Beset The Novelist, Not The Least Weighty Is The Choice Of The Moment At Which To Begin His Novel.

A Letter, By Its Arrival, Defrauds Us Of A Whole Secret Region Of Our Existence, The Only Region Indeed In Which The True Pleasure Of Life May Be Tasted, The Region Of Imagination, Creative And Protean, The Clouds And Beautiful Shapes Of Whose Heaven Are Destroyed By The Wind Of Reality.

How Poor And Disheartening A Thing Is Experience Compared With Hope!