We Desert Those Who Desert Us; We

Who Is Ever Adequate? We All Create Situations Each Other Can't Live Up To, Then Break Our Hearts At Them Because They Don't.

Childish Fantasy, Like The Sheath Over The Bud, Not Only Protects But Curbs The Terrible Budding Spirit, Protects Not Only Innocence From The World, But The World From The Power Of Innocence.

With No Banal Reassuring Grown-ups Present, With Grown-up Intervention Taken Away, There Is No Limit To The Terror Strange Children Feel Of Each Other, A Terror Life Obscures But Never Ceases To Justify. There Is No End To The Violations Committed By Children On Children, Quietly Talking Alone.

People In Love, In Whom Every Sense Is Open, Cannot Beat Off The Influence Of A Place.

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.