She closed her eyes, dark-lidded, dark shadows beneath them; she really was older, not the glancing-eyed girl I had fallen in love with but no less beautiful for that; beautiful now in a way that less excited my senses than tore at my very heart.

Criticism at the wrong time, even if it's legitimate criticism, can be seriously damaging and make the writer lose faith in what he's doing. It's the timing that's all-important.

Always remember, the person we’re really working for is the person who’s restoring the piece a hundred years from now. He’s the one we want to impress.

...with a grief no less sharp for not being intimate with its object.

But it's for every writer to decide his own pace, and the pace varies with the writer and the work

Who cares? If he is good to you? None of us ever find enough kindness in the world, do we?

I think it's hard to write about children and to have an idea of innocence.