Our Longing Is Our Pledge, And Blessed

I Was Young, And By Instinct Of Self-preservation I Had To Collect My Energy On Something, If I Were Not To Be Whirled Away With The Dusk On The Farm-roads, Or The Smoke On The Plain. I Begun In The Evenings To Write Stories, Fairy-tales, And Romances, That Would Take My Mind A Long Way Off, To Other Countries And Times.

The Divine Art Is The Story.

Up In This Air You Breathed Easily, Drawing In A Vital Assurance And Lightness Of Heart. In The Highlands You Woke Up In The Morning And Thought: Here I Am, Where I Ought To Be.

Tragedy Should Remain The Right Of Human Beings, Subject, In Their Conditions Or In Their Own Nature, To The Dire Law Of Necessity. To Them It Is Salvation And Beatification.

Real Art Must Always Involve Some Witchcraft.