Her Memory's Your Love. You Want No

The Main Object Of The Novel Is To Represent Life. . .the Success Of A Work Of Art, To My Mind, May Be Measured By The Degree To Which It Produces A Certain Illusion; That Illusion Makes It Appear To Us For The Time That We Have Lived Another Life - That We Have Had A Miraculous Enlargement Of Experience.

Sometimes She Went So Far As To Wish That She Should Find Herself In A Difficult Position, So That She Might Have The Pleasure Of Being As Heroic As The Occasion Demanded.

I Recall My Fleeting Instants In Savannah As The Taste Of A Cup Charged To The Brim.

I Have Only To Let Myself Go! So I Have Said All My Life, Yet I Have Never Fully Done It.

The Fatal Futility Of Fact.