Convictions ... Are Always Getting In The

Though It Sounds Absurd, It Is True To Say I Felt Younger At Sixty Than I Felt At Twenty.

Spring Was Running In A Thin Green Flame Over The Valley.

Spring, Which Germinated In The Earth, Moved Also With A Strange Restlessness, In The Hearts Of... Women. As The Weeks Passed, Inextinguishable Hope, Which Mounts With The Rising Sap, Looked From Their Faces.

He Knows So Little And Knows It So Fluently.

Surely The Novel Should Be A Form Of Art - But Art Was Not Enough. It Must Contain Not Only The Perfection Of Art, But The Imperfection Of Nature.