The War Has Jerked Us Pretty Sharply

But It Is The Mark Of All Movements, However Well-intentioned, That Their Pioneers Tend, By Much Lashing Of Themselves Into Excitement, To Lose Sight Of The Obvious.

No Share-pusher Could Vend His Worthless Stock, If He Could Not Count On Meeting, In His Prospective Victim, An Unscrupulous Avarice As Vicious As His Own, But Stupider. Every Time A Man Expects, As He Says, His Money To Work For Him, He Is Expecting Other People To Work For Him.

The Business Of The Artist Is Not To Escape From His Material Medium Or Bully It, But To Serve It; But To Serve It, He Must Love It. If He Does So, He Will Realise That In Its Service Is Perfect Freedom.

I Have Never Yet Heard Any Middle-aged Man Or Woman Who Worked With His Or Her Brains Express Any Regret For The Passing Of Youth.

Fantasy Works Inwards Upon Its Author, Blurring The Boundary Between The Visioned And The Actual, And Associating Itself Ever Moreclosely With The Ego, So That The Child Who Has Fantasied Himself A Murderer Ends By Becoming A Loeb Or A Leopold. The Creative Imagination Works Outwards, Steadily Increasing The Gap Between The Visioned And The Actual, Till This Becomes The Great Gulf Fixed Between Art And Nature. Few Writers Of Crime-stories Become Murderers--if Any Do, It Is Not The Result Of Identifying Themselves With Their Murderous Heroes.