There's Something So Showy About Desperation, It

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

One Can Live In The Shadow Of An Idea Without Grasping It.

Memory Is To Love What The Saucer Is To The Cup.

I Do Like Italian Graves; They Look So Much More Lived In.

First Love, With Its Frantic Haughty Imagination, Swings Its Object Clear Of The Everyday, Over The Rut Of Living, Making Him All Looks, Silences, Gestures, Attitudes, A Burning Phrase With No Context.