Paradoxical As It May Seem, To Believe

Fantasy Works Inwards Upon Its Author, Blurring The Boundary Between The Visioned And The Actual, And Associating Itself Ever Moreclosely With The Ego, So That The Child Who Has Fantasied Himself A Murderer Ends By Becoming A Loeb Or A Leopold. The Creative Imagination Works Outwards, Steadily Increasing The Gap Between The Visioned And The Actual, Till This Becomes The Great Gulf Fixed Between Art And Nature. Few Writers Of Crime-stories Become Murderers--if Any Do, It Is Not The Result Of Identifying Themselves With Their Murderous Heroes.

But You See, I Can Believe A Thing Without Understanding It. It's All A Matter Of Training.

The Autobiography Is At One And The Same Time A Single Element In The Series Of The Writer's Created Works And An Interpretation Of The Whole Series.

The One Thing Which Seems To Me Quite Impossible Is To Take Into Consideration The Kind Of Book One Is Expected To Write; Surely One Can Only Write The Book That Is There To Be Written.

What Is Repugnant To Every Human Being Is To Be Reckoned Always As A Member Of A Class And Not As An Individual Person.