I Held Out My Arms To Him

She Had To Live In This Bright, Red Gabled House With The Nurse Until It Was Time For Her To Die... I Thought How Little We Know About The Feelings Of Old People. Children We Understand, Their Fears And Hopes And Make-believe.

Here Was A Silence Between Them For A Moment, And She Wondered If All Women, When In Love, Were Torn Between Two Impulses, A Longing To Throw Modesty And Reserve To The Winds And Confess Everything, And An Equal Determination To Conceal The Love Forever, To Be Cool, Aloof, Utterly Detached, To Die Rather Than Admit A Thing So Personal, So Intimate.

You Had To Endure Something Yourself Before It Touched You.

When One Is Writing A Novel In The First Person, One Must Be That Person.

Once A Person Gave His Talent To The World, The World Put A Stamp Upon It. The Talent Was Not A Personal Possession Any More. It Was Something To Be Traded, Bought And Sold. It Fetched A High Price, Or A Low One. It Was Kicked In The Common Market.