History Isn't What Happened, History

When You Are Young, You Think That The Old Lament The Deterioration Of Life Because This Makes It Easier For Them To Die Without Regret. When You Are Old, You Become Impatient With The Way In Which The Young Applaud The Most Insignificant Improvements … While Remaining Heedless Of The World’s Barbarism. I Don’t Say Things Have Got Worse; I Merely Say The Young Wouldn’t Notice If They Had. The Old Times Were Good Because Then We Were Young, And Ignorant Of How Ignorant The Young Can Be.

Is Any Novelist Going To Recognize The Moment When He Or She Has Nothing More To Say? It Is A Brave Thing To Admit. And Since As A Professional Writer You Are Full Of Anxiety Anyway, You Could Easily Misread The Signs.

Some Of The Freckles I Once Loved Are Now Closer To Liver Spots. But It’s Still The Eyes We Look At, Isn’t It? That’s Where We Found The Other Person, And Find Them Still.

He Feared Me As Many Men Fear Women: Because Their Mistresses (or Their Wives) Understand Them. They Are Scarcely Adult, Some Men: They Wish Women To Understand Them, And To That End They Tell Them All Their Secrets; And Then, When They Are Properly Understood, They Hate Their Women For Understanding Them.

Everything In Art Depends On Execution: The Story Of A Louse Can Be As Beautiful As The Story Of Alexander. You Must Write According To Your Feelings, Be Sure Those Feelings Are True, And Let Everything Else Go Hang. When A Line Is Good It Ceases To Belong To Any School. A Line Of Prose Must Be As Immutable As A Line Of Poetry.