You Had To Endure Something Yourself Before

When One Is Writing A Novel In The First Person, One Must Be That Person.

It Wouldn't Make For Sanity Would It, Living With The Devil.

I Felt Rather Exhausted, And Wondered, Rather Shocked At My Callous Thought, Why Old People Were Sometimes Such A Strain. Worse Than Young Children Or Puppies Because One Had To Be Polite.

Looking From The Window At The Fantastic Light And Colour Of My Glittering Fairy-world Of Fact That Holds No Tenderness, No Quietude, I Long Suddenly For Peace, For Understanding.

He Stole Horses' You'll Say To Yourself, 'and He Didn't Care For Women; And But For My Pride I'd Have Been With Him Now.