Thoughts Fly And Words Go On Foot.

A Child's Fear Is A World Whose Dark Corners Are Quite Unknown To Grownup People; It Has Its Sky And Its Abysses, A Sky Without Stars, Abysses Into Which No Light Can Ever Penetrate.

I Enter The World Called Real As One Enters A Mist.

I Am Probably Exaggerating A Little, But I Owe My Equilibrium To Ink And Paper.

Yesterday, Happiness Came In Suddenly, As It Used To, And Remained For A Moment In The Great, Dark, Silent Drawing Room.

A Scrupulous Man Will Never Produce A Great Novel.