Like Some Wines Our Love Could Neither

A Major Character Has To Come Somehow Out Of The Unconscious.

They Haven't Left Us Much To Believe, Have They? — Even Disbelief. I Can't Believe In Anything Bigger Than A Home, Or Anything Vaguer Than A Human Being.

Sometimes I See Myself Reflected Too Closely In Other Men For Comfort, And Then I Have An Enormous Wish To Believe In The Saints, In Heroic Virtue.

The Economy Of A Novelist Is A Little Like That Of A Careful Housewife Who Is Unwilling To Throw Away Anything That Might Perhaps Serve Its Turn.

With Your Great Schemes, You Ruin Our Happiness Like A Harvester Ruins A Mouse's Nest: I Hate You, God, I Hate You As Though You Existed.