But The French Writers Always Had More

The Fact Is That Between The Classes There Is A Vast Gulf That Precludes All Mutual Understanding, And Makes Simultaneous Efforts Simply Impossible.

But I Think Happiness Springs From Another Source, A Far Deeper One That Doesn't Depend On Will Because It Comes From Love.

I Know From Experience That To One Who Thinks Much And Feels Deeply, It Often Seems That He Has Only To Put Down His Thoughts And Feelings In Order To Produce Something Altogether Out Of The Common; Yet As Soon As He Sets To Work He Falls Into A Certain Mannerism Of Style And Common Phraseology; His Thoughts Do Not Come Spontaneously, And One Might Almost Say That It Is Not The Mind That Directs The Pen, But The Pen Leads The Mind Into Common, Empty Artificiality.

Every Novelist Should Write Something For Children At Least Once In His Lifetime.

The Sky Is One Whole, The Water Another