Within Ourselves Is Not Very Far And

If People Only Knew What Lies At The Heart Of My Novels! What A Tumult Of Desires These Carefully Written Pages Conceal! I Sometimes Have A Loathing For The Furious Cravings That Give Me No Peace Except When I Am Working.

I Have Always Thought That By Observing Things With A Great Deal Of Attention You Eventually Wrest Some Of Their Secrets From Them, Making Them Utter What They Would Most Like To Keep To Themselves.

Within Ourselves Is Not Very Far And Yet It Is So Far That One's Whole Life Is Not Always Long Enough To Get There.

Yesterday, Happiness Came In Suddenly, As It Used To, And Remained For A Moment In The Great, Dark, Silent Drawing Room.

Our Life Is A Book That Writes Itself And Whose Principal Themes Sometimes Escape Us. We Are Like Characters In A Novel Who Do Not Always Understand What The Author Wants Of Them.