America Has Enjoyed The Doubtful

But There Is, I Have Learned, No Permanent Escape From The Past. It May Be An Unrecognized Law Of Our Nature That We Should Be Drawn Back, Inevitably, To The Place Where We Have Suffered Most.

Surely The Novel Should Be A Form Of Art - But Art Was Not Enough. It Must Contain Not Only The Perfection Of Art, But The Imperfection Of Nature.

... The Novel, As A Living Force, If Not As A Work Of Art, Owes An Incalculable Debt To What We Call, Mistakenly, The New Psychology, To Freud, In His Earlier Interpretations, And More Truly, I Think, To Jung.

The Only Difference Between A Rut And A Grave Are The Dimensions.

I Revolted From Sentimentality, Less Because It Was False Than Because It Was Cruel.