For Me, The Novel Is

The Great Novels Have Marched With The Years. They Are The Contemporaries Of Time.

What Was Time Itself But The Bloom, The Sheath Enfolding Experience? Within Time, And With Time Alone, There Was Life - The Gleam, The Quiver, The Heartbeat, The Immeasurable Joy And Anguish Of Being.

You Look As If You Had Lived On Duty And It Hadn't Agreed With You.

Preserve, Within A Wild Sanctuary, An Inaccessible Valley Of Reverie.

Life May Take Away Happiness. But It Can't Take Away Having Had It.