If only one could tell true love from false love as one can tell mushrooms from toadstools.
Katherine MansfieldAch, Tchekov! Why are you dead? Why canโt I talk to you in a big darkish room at late eveningโwhere the light is green from the waving trees outside? Iโd like to write a series of Heavens: that would be one.
Katherine MansfieldYes, my mother's death is a terrible sorrow to me. I feel - do you know what I mean - the silence of it so. She was more alive than anyone I have ever known.
Katherine MansfieldDo you remember your childhood? I am always coming across these marvelous accounts by writers who declare that they remember 'everything.' I certainly don't. The dark stretches, the blanks, are much bigger than the bright glimpses. I seem to have spent most of my time like a plant in a cupboard.
Katherine Mansfield