Fate Is Not An Eagle, It Creeps

Meetings That Do Not Come Off Keep A Character Of Their Own. They Stay As They Were Projected.

Exhibitionism And A Nervous Wish For Concealment, For Anonymity, Thus Battle Inside The Buyer Of Any Piece Of Clothing.

She Had One Of Those Charming Faces Which, According To The Angle From Which You See Them, Look Either Melancholy Or Impertinent. Her Eyes Were Grey; Her Trick Of Narrowing Them Made Her Seem To Reflect, The Greater Part Of The Time, In The Dusk Of Her Second Thoughts. With That Mood, That Touch Of Arriere Pensee, Went An Uncertain, Speaking Set Of Lips.

What Is A Novel? I Say: An Invented Story. At The Same Time A Story Which, Though Invented Has The Power To Ring True. True To What? True To Life As The Reader Knows Life To Be Or, It May Be, Feels Life To Be. And I Mean The Adult, The Grown-up Reader. Such A Reader Has Outgrown Fairy Tales, And We Do Not Want The Fantastic And The Impossible. So I Say To You That A Novel Must Stand Up To The Adult Tests Of Reality.

Yes, Writing A Novel, My Boy, Is Like Driving Pigs To Market - You Have One Of Them Making A Bolt Down The Wrong Lane; Another Won't Get Over The Right Stile.