My genius is not so frail a thing that it cowers from the dirty fingers of newspapernen.

People with ambition don't give a damn what other people think of them.

My genius is not so frail a thing that it cowers from the dirty fingers of newspapernen.

Sometimes you can know things. Things about yourself. Things from before you can remember.

Do they sense it, these dead writers, when their books are read? Does a pinprick of light appear in their darkness? Is their soul stirred by the feather touch of another mind reading theirs? I do hope so.

The tears I gratified him with were fake ones. Ones that set off my green eyes the way diamonds set off emeralds. And it worked. If you dazzled a man with green eyes, he will be so hypnotized that he won’t notice there is someone inside the eyes spying on him. – Vida Winters Page 268

But silence is not a natural environment for stories. They need words. Without them they grown pale, sicken and die. And then they haunt you.