I Do Not Like To "interest" The

It Is A Delicious Thing To Write, To Be No Longer Yourself But To Move In An Entire Universe Of Your Own Creating. Today, For Instance, As Man And Woman, Both Lover And Mistress, I Rode In A Forest On An Autumn Afternoon Under The Yellow Leaves, And I Was Also The Horses, The Leaves, The Wind, The Words My People Uttered, Even The Red Sun That Made Them Almost Close Their Love-drowned Eyes.

One Arrives At Style Only With Atrocious Effort, With Fanatical And Devoted Stubbornness.

One Can Be The Master Of What One Does, But Never Of What One Feels.

Come, Let’s Be Calm: No One Incapable Of Restraint Was Ever A Writer.

The Denigration Of Those We Love Always Detaches Us From Them In Some Degree. Never Touch Your Idols: The Gilding Will Stick To Your Fingers.