I Don't Think Victory Over Death... Is

There Is An Abiding Beauty Which May Be Appreciated By Those Who Will See Things As They Are And Who Will Ask For No Reward Except To See.

The Joys Of Motherhood Are Not Excessively Apparent During The First Few Weeks Of A Baby's Life.

Belated Maternity Has Had Its Compensations; Small Children Have A Habit Of Conferring Persistent Youth Upon Their Parents, And By Their Eager Vitality Postpone The Unenterprising Cautions And Timidities Of Middle Age.

Nevertheless, Hateful As Saying 'no' Always Is To An Imaginative Person, And Certain As The Offence May Be That It Will Cause To Individuals Whose Own Work Does Not Require Isolated Effort, The Writer Who Is Engaged On A Book Must Learn To Say It. He Must Say It Consistently To All Interrupters; To The Numerous Callers And Correspondents Who Want Him To Speak, Open Bazaars, See Them For 'only' Ten Minutes, Attend Literary Parties, Put People Up, Or Read, Correct And Find Publishers For Semi-literate Manuscripts By His Personal Friends.

Why, I Wonder, Do People Who At One Time Or Another Have All Been Young Themselves, And Who Ought Therefore To Know Better, Generalize So Suavely And So Mendaciously About The Golden Hours Of Youth-that Period Of Life When Every Sorrow Seems Permanent, And Every Setback Insuperable?