The Realisation Of One's Own

A Diary Is The Last Place To Go If You Wish To Seek The Truth About A Person. Nobody Dares To Make The Final Confession To Themselves On Paper: Or At Least, Not About Love.

A Critic Is A Lug-worm In The Liver Of Literature.

He Thought And Suffered A Good Deal But He Lacked The Resolution To Dare--the First Requisite Of A Practitioner.

Truth Is What Most Contradicts Itself.

I Have Been Thinking About The Girl I Met Last Night In The Mirror: Dark On The Marble-ivory White: Glossy Black Hair: Deep Suspiring Eyes In Which One's Glances Sink Because They Are Nervous, Curious, Turned To Sexual Curiosity.