Strictly Speaking, The Idea Of A Scientific

Novels Tend To End As The Paternoster Begins: With The Kingdom Of God On Earth.

As Long As The Artist Invents And Is Inspired, He Remains In A Constrained State Of Mind, At Least For The Purpose Of Communication. He Then Wants To Say Everything, Which Is The Wrong Tendency Of Young Geniuses Or The Right Prejudice Of Old Bunglers. Thus, He Fails To Recognize The Value And Dignity Of Self-restraint, Which Is Indeed For Both The Artist And The Man The First And The Last, The Most Necessary And The Highest Goal.

Since Poetry Is Infinitely Valuable, I Do Not Understand Why It Should Be More Valuable Than This Or That Which Is Also Infinitelyvaluable. There Are Artists Who Perhaps Do Not Think Art To Be Too Great, For This Is Impossible, And Yet They Are Not Free Enough To Be Able To Rise Above Their Own Best Accomplishments.

The Analytical Writer Observes The Reader As He Is; Accordingly, He Makes His Calculation, Sets His Machine To Make The Appropriate Effect On Him. The Synthetic Writer Constructs And Creates His Own Reader; He Does Not Imagine Him As Resting And Dead, But Lively And Advancing Toward Him. He Makes That Which He Had Invented Gradually Take Shape Before The Reader's Eyes, Or He Tempts Him To Do The Inventing For Himself. He Does Not Want To Make A Particular Effect On Him, But Rather Enters Into A Solemn Relationship Of Innermost Symphilosophy Or Sympoetry.

When The Author Has No Idea Of What To Reply To A Critic, He Then Likes To Say: You Could Not Do It Better Anyway. This Is The Same As If A Dogmatic Philosopher Reproached A Skeptic For Not Being Able To Devise A System.