A Good Novel Cannot Be Too Long

I Hated The Things They Believe In, The Things They So Innocently And Charmingly Pretended. I Hated The Sanctimonious Piety That Let People Hurt Helpless Creatures. I Hated The Prayers And The Hymns - The Fountains And The Red Images That Coloured Their Drab Music, The Fountains Filled With Blood, The Sacrifice Of The Lamb.

It Would Appear, From The Best Examples, That The Proper Way Of Beginning A Preface To One's Work Is With A Humble Apology For Having Written At All.

There Is A Terrible Loneliness In The Spring.

The Old Alone Have Finality. What Is True Of The Young Today May Be False Tomorrow. They Are Enveloped In Emotion; And Emotion As A State Of Being Is Fluent And Evanescent.

The Great Novels Have Marched With The Years. They Are The Contemporaries Of Time.