Soon He'll Come In Again And Kiss

And Then The Days Came When I Was Alone.

Only The Magic And The Dream Are True — All The Rest's A Lie.

She Could Give Herself Up To The Written Word As Naturally As A Good Dancer To Music Or A Fine Swimmer To Water. The Only Difficulty Was That After Finishing The Last Sentence She Was Left With A Feeling At Once Hollow And Uncomfortably Full. Exactly Like Indigestion.

What You Take To Be Hyprocrisy Is Sometimes A Certain Caution, Sometimes Genuine, Though Ponderous, Childish, Sometimes A Mixture Of Both.

All Of A Writer That Matters Is In The Book Or Books. It Is Idiotic To Be Curious About The Person.