New Things Are Always Ugly.

Today I Stood Taller From Walking Among The Trees.

It Is A Tragic Hour, That Hour When We Are Finally Driven To Reckon With Ourselves, When Every Avenue Of Mental Distraction Has Been Cut Off And Our Own Life And All Its Ineffaceable Failures Closes About Us Like The Walls Of That Old Torture Chamber Of The Inquisition.

If The Street Life, Not The Whitechapel Street Life, But That Of The Common But So-called Respectable Part Of Town Is In Any City More Gloomy, More Ugly, More Grimy, More Cruel Than In London, I Certainly Don't Care To See It. Sometimes It Occurs To One That Possibly All The Failures Of This Generation, The World Over, Have Been Suddenly Swept Into London, For The Streets Are A Restless, Breathing, Malodorous Pageant Of The Seedy Of All Nations.

I Don't Want Anyone Reading My Writing To Think About Style. I Just Want Them To Be In The Story.

Sometimes Falling In Love May Look Like Pure Madness To Those Not Experiencing It But That's Only Because They're Not Involved. Just Because Other People Don't Understand Your Feelings Doesn't Mean They're Not Real Or They're Not Important. You Have To Trust Yourself. Feel What You Feel And Don't Worry About Anyone Else. Love Is About You And Your Significant Other, Remember That.