Silence Is Of Different Kinds, And Breathes

The Writer Who Possesses The Creative Gift Owns Something Of Which He Is Not Always Master - Something That, At Times, Strangely Wills And Works For Itself.

Sir,' I Interrupted Him, 'you Are Inexorable For That Unfortunate Lady; You Speak Of Her With Hate --- With Vindictive Antipathy. It Is Cruel --- She Cannot Help Being Mad.

Presentiments Are Strange Things: And So Are Sympathies; And So Are Signs; And The Three Combined Make One Mystery To Which Humanity Has Not Yet Found The Key.

If Men Could See Us As We Really Are, They Would Be A Little Amazed.

There Is, I Am Convinced, No Picture That Conveys In All Its Dreadfulness, A Vision Of Sorrow, Despairing, Remediless, Supreme. If I Could Paint Such A Picture, The Canvas Would Show Only A Woman Looking Down At Her Empty Arms.