I Was Afraid And Did Not Know

The Clerisy Are Those Who Read For Pleasure, But Not For Idleness; Who Read For Pastime But Not To Kill Time; Who Love Books, But Do Not Live By Books

The Victorians Have Been Immoderately Praised, And Immoderately Blamed, And Surely It Is Time We Formed Some Reasonable Picture Of Them? There Was Their Courageous, Intellectually Adventurous Side, Their Greedy And Inhuman Side, Their Superbly Poetic Side, Their Morally Pretentious Side, Their Tea And Buttered Toast Side, And Their Champagne And Skittles Side. Much Like Ourselves, In Fact, Though Rather Dirtier.

Happiness Is A By-product. It Is Not A Primary Product Of Life. It Is A Thing Which You Suddenly Realize You Have Because You're So Delighted To Be Doing Something Which Perhaps Has Nothing Whatever To Do With Happiness.

Only In The Theatre Was It Possible To See The Performers And To Be Warmed By Their Personal Charm, To Respond To Their Efforts And To Feel Their Response To The Applause And Appreciative Laughter Of The Audience. It Had An Intimate Quality; Audience And Actors Conspired To Make A Little Oasis Of Happiness And Mirth Within The Walls Of The Theatre. Try As We Will, We Cannot Be Intimate With A Shadow On A Screen, Nor A Voice From A Box.

It Is In This Matter That I Fall Foul Of So Many American Writers On Writing; They Seem To Think That Writing Is A Confidence Game By Means Of Which The Author Cajoles A Restless, Dull-witted, Shallow Audience Into Hearing His Point Of View. Such An Attitude Is Base, And Can Only Beget Base Prose.