The Truth Is Artistically Fallacious.

People In General Are Totally Unable To Detach The Personality Of A Writer From The Products Of His Thinking.

A Woman Has Got To Love A Bad Man Once Or Twice In Her Life, To Be Thankful For A Good One.

To Comfort Any Mortal Against Loneliness, One Other Is Enough.

Words Began Fights And Words Ended Them.

Readers Themselves, I Think, Contribute To A Book. They Add Their Own Imaginations, And It Is As Though The Writer Only Gave Them Something To Work On, And They Did The Rest.