Silences Can Be As Different As Sounds.

The Craft Of The Novelist Does Lie First Of All In Story-telling.

It Is In This Unearthly First Hour Of Spring Twilight That Earth's Almost Agonized Livingness Is Most Felt. This Hour Is So Dreadful To Some People That They Hurry Indoors And Turn On The Lights.

Somehow At Parties At Which One Stays Standing Up One Seems To Require To Be More Concentratedly Intelligent Than One Does At Those At Which One Can Sit Down.

Almost Everyone Admits To Hunger During The Opera.... Hunger Is So Exalting That During A Last Act You Practically Levitate.

Mr. [aldous] Huxley Has Been The Alarming Young Man For A Long Time, A Sort Of Perpetual Clever Nephew Who Can Be Relied On To Flutter The Lunch Party. Whatever Will He Say Next? How Does He Think Of Those Things? He Has Been Deplored Once Or Twice, But Feeling Is In His Favor: He Is Steadily Read. He Is At Once The Truly Clever Person And The Stupid Person's Idea Of The Clever Person; He Is Expected To Be Relentless, To Administer Intellectual Shocks.