We Died Like Aunts Of Pets Or

Anyone Who Has Read Yeats's Wonderful Autobiography Will Remember His Sligo Shabby, Shadowed, Half Country And Half Sea, Full Of Confused Romance, Superstition, Poverty, Eccentricity, Unrecognized Anachronism, Passion And Ignorance And The Little Boy's Misery. Yeats Was Treated Well But Was Bitterly Unhappy; He Prayed That He Would Die, And Used Often To Say To Himself: "when You Are Grown Up, Never Talk As Grown-up People Do Of The Happiness Of Childhood.

One Of The Most Puzzling Things About A Novel Is That "the Way It Really Was" Half The Time Is, And Half The Time Isn't, The Way It Ought To Be In The Novel.

The Novel Is A Prose Narrative Of Some Length That Has Something Wrong With It.

Except From The Americans—but Every Pearl Has Its Oyster.

If We Were In The Habit Of Reading Poets Their Obscurity Would Not Matter; And, Once We Are Out Of The Habit, Their Clarity Does Not Help.