Theories Have Nothing To Do

Nothing, Except The Weather Report Or A General Maxim Of Conduct, Is So Unsafe To Rely Upon As A Theory Of Fiction.

The Nearer She Came To Death, The More, By Some Perversity Of Nature, Did She Enjoy Living.

It Was A Perfect Spring Afternoon, And The Air Was Filled With Vague, Roving Scents, As If The Earth Exhaled The Sweetness Of Hidden Flowers.

For My Own Purpose, I Defined The Art Of Fiction As Experience Illuminated.

What Happens Is Not As Important As How You React To What Happens.