Young Girls Like The Excess Of Any

... Into The Novel Goes Such Taste As I Have For Rational Behaviour And Social Portraiture. The Short Story, As I See It To Be, Allows For What Is Crazy About Humanity: Obstinacies, Inordinate Heroisms, "immortal Longings.

Solitary And Farouche People Don't Have Relationships; They Are Quite Unrelatable. If You And I Were Capable Of Being Altogether House-trained And Made Jolly, We Should Be Nicer People, But Not Writers.

Memory Must Be Patchy; What Is More Alarming Is Its Face-savingness. Something In One Shrinks From Catching It Out - Unique To Oneself, One's Own, One's Claim To Identity, It Implicates One's Identity In Its Fibbing.

Where Would The Irish Be Without Someone To Be Irish At?

No, It Is Not Only Our Fate But Our Business To Lose Innocence, And Once We Have Lost That, It Is Futile To Attempt A Picnic In Eden.