I Do Not Think About Absent Persons

Jealousy, The Most Hideous Emotion Any Human Being Ever Suffers, Has Nothing To Do With The Mind. Or Not At First.

The Gesture With Which One Generation Guards The Next Is The Movement, And The Only Time We See It Clearly, Of Life Itself.

As Often As Not Our Whole Self...engages Itself In The Most Trivial Of Things, The Shape Of A Particular Hill, A Road In The Town In Which We Lived As Children, The Movement Of Wind In Grass. The Things We Shall Take With Us When We Die Will Nearly All Be Small Things.

I Do Not Think About Absent Persons As Often Or With Such Intense Longing As I Think Of Places. They Lie One Below The Other In My Mind.

An Intelligent Man Or Woman Willing To Make A Career Of Reviewing Fiction Is Hard To Come By ... And The Temporaries Do The Work Cheaply. Moreover, Continuity May Be Got At The Expense Of Intellectual Arthritis; A Reviewer Who Has Been At His Grisly Task For Half A Lifetime May Stiffen Into Prejudices Of Every Sort, And Become Too Anchylosed To Do Better Than Turn His Back To A New Wave When It Rushes Down On Him.