Without Form, The Sensitiveness Vanishes.

I Would Rather Be A Coward Than Brave Because People Hurt You When You Are Brave.

Faith, To My Mind, Is A Stiffening Process, A Sort Of Mental Starch.

It Is Never Possible For A Novelist To Deny Time Inside The Fabric Of His Novel: He Must Cling, However Lightly, To The Thread Of His Story, He Must Touch The Interminable Tapeworm, Otherwise He Becomes Unintelligible, Which, In His Case, Is A Blunder.

Death Destroys A Man, But The Idea Of Death Saves Him.

Do You Remember Italy?