The Land Belongs To The Future.

Now That Stevenson Is Dead I Can Think Of But One English- Speaking Author Who Is Really Keeping His Self-respect And Sticking Forperfection. Of Course I Refer To That Mighty Master Of Language And Keen Student Of Human Actions And Motives, Henry James.

It Is Cremated Youth. It Is All Yours--no One Gave It To You.

I Was Thinking, As I Watched Her, How Little It Mattered –about Her Teeth For Instance. I Know So Many Women Who Have Kept All The Things She Had Lost, *but Whose Inner Glow Has Faded*. Whatever Else Was Gone, Antonia Had Not Lost The Fire Of Life.

This Land Was An Enigma. It Was Like A Horse That No One Knows How To Break To Harness, That Runs Wild And Kicks Things To Pieces.

Every Fine Story Must Leave In The Mind Of The Sensitive Reader An Intangible Residuum Of Pleasure, A Cadence, A Quality Of Voice That Is Exclusively The Writer's Own, Individual, Unique.