Reading is a majority skill but a minority art.

I dreamt that I woke up. It's the oldest dream of all, and I've just had it

The imagination doesn't crop annually like a reliable fruit tree. The writer has to gather whatever's there: sometimes too much, sometimes too little, sometimes nothing at all. And in the years of glut there is always a slatted wooden tray in some cool, dark attic, which the writer nervously visits from time to time; and yes, oh dear, while he's been hard at work downstairs, up in the attic there are puckering skins, warning spots, a sudden brown collapse and the sprouting of snowflakes. What can he do about it?

You lose the world for a glance? Of course you do. That is what the world is for: to lose under the right circunstances.

Mystification is simple; clarity is the hardest thing of all.

He feared me as many men fear women: because their mistresses (or their wives) understand them. They are scarcely adult, some men: they wish women to understand them, and to that end they tell them all their secrets; and then, when they are properly understood, they hate their women for understanding them.

Most people, in my opinion, steal much of what they are. If they didn't what poor items they would be.