All Art, In Spite Of

True Revolutions In Art Restore More Than They Destroy.

I Don't Like Quintessential Certitude.

But Is There Any Reason To Believe That A Woman's Spiritual Fibre Is Less Sturdy Than A Man's? Is It Not Possible For A Woman To Come To Terms With Herself If Not With The World; To Withdraw More And More, As Time Goes On, Her Own Personality From Her Productions; To Stop Childish Fears Of Death And Eschew Charming Rebellions Against Facts?

But Childhood Prolonged, Cannot Remain A Fairyland. It Becomes A Hell.

O God, In The Dream The Terrible Horse Began To Paw At The Air, And Make For Me With His Blows.