The Fact That A Believer

As An Old Soldier, I Admit The Cowardice: It's As Universal As Seasickness, And Matters Just As Little.

The Real Brahms Is Nothing More Than A Sentimental Voluptuary. Rather Tiresomely Addicted To Dressing Himself Up As Handel Or Beethoven And Making A Prolonged And Intolerable Noise.

A True Artist Will Let His Wife Starve, His Children Go Barefoot, His Mother Drudge For His Living At Seventy, Sooner Than Work At Anything But His Art.

It Is Clear That A Novel Cannot Be Too Bad To Be Worth Publishing. . . . It Certainly Is Possible For A Novel To Be Too Good To Be Worth Publishing.

There Are No Secrets Better Kept Than The Secrets Everybody Guesses.