Why Haven't We Seventy Lives? One Is

What With The Reviews Of Critics, The Sarcasms Of One's Friends, The Reproaches Of One's Own Taste, There's Precious Little Peace After Publishing A Book.

What A Strange Distance There Is Between Ill People And Well Ones.

But To Write - That Is Grief And Labor; And To Read What One Has Written - How Unlike The Story As One Saw It; How Dull, How Spirtless - That Is Enough To Send One Weeping To Bed.

Life Flows On Over Death As Water Closes Over A Stone Dropped Into A Pool. ... Fate Is Certain; Death Is Certain; But The Courage And Nobility Of Men And Women Matter More Than These.

It Is Better To Take Experience, To Suffer, To Love, And To Remember Than To Walk Unscathed Between The Fires. I've Had Most Immunities Myself - The Result Of An Independent Income Combined With A Personality Completely Devoid Of Sexual Attractions - The Two Fires Of Poverty And Passion Have Therefore Never Burned Me, And I Am A Lesser Person For My Safety.