At The Risk Of Sounding Like Virginia

There Did Not Have To Be A Moral. She Need Only Show Separate Minds, As Alive As Her Own, Struggling With The Idea That Other Minds Were Equally Alive. It Wasn't Only Wickedness And Scheming That Made People Unhappy, It Was Confusion And Misunderstanding, Above All, It Was The Failure To Grasp The Simple Truth That Other People Are As Real As You. And Only In A Story Could You Enter These Different Minds And Show How They Had An Equal Value. That Was The Only Moral A Story Need Have.

When He Thought Of Her, It Rather Amazed Him, That He Had Let That Girl With Her Violin Go. Now, Of Course, He Saw That Her Self-effacing Proposal Was Quite Irrelevant. All She Had Needed Was The Certainty Of His Love, And His Reassurance That There Was No Hurry When A Lifetime Lay Ahead Of Them. Love And Patience- If Only He Had Had Them Both At Once- Would Surely Have Seen Them Both Through.

Daylight Seemed Then To Be The Physical Manifestation Of Common Sense.

It Is Not The First Duty Of The Novelist To Provide Blueprints For Insurrection, Or Uplifting Tales Of Successful Resistance For The Benefit Of The Opposition. The Naming Of What Is There Is What Is Important.

I'm Quite Good At Not Writing.