The Endless Chatter Of This Journey Had

The World Is A Sea In Which We All Must Surely Drown.

I Never Read In Bed, Only In My Study.

So Do We Discover, In The World, That Our Worst Fears Are Unfulfilled; Yet We Must Fear, In Order That We May Feel Delight.

It Is Strange, Is It Not, How A Person Can Adore One's Soul So Much That They Adore One's Body Also?

Why Should A Novelist Not Also Be A Historian? To Force Unnatural Divisions Within The English Language Is To Work Against Its Capacious And Accommodating Nature. To Expect A Writer To Produce Only Novels, Or Only Histories, Is Equivalent To Demanding From A Composer That He Or She Write Only String Quartets Or Piano Sonatas.