Perhaps this very instant is your time.

I'll lie here and learn How, over their ground, Trees make a long shadow And a light sound.

But is there any reason to believe that a woman's spiritual fibre is less sturdy than a man's? Is it not possible for a woman to come to terms with herself if not with the world; to withdraw more and more, as time goes on, her own personality from her productions; to stop childish fears of death and eschew charming rebellions against facts?

All art, in spite of the struggles of some critics to prove otherwise, is based on emotion and projects emotion.

Your work is carved out of agony as a statue is carved out of marble.

The intellectual is a middle-class product; if he is not born into the class he must soon insert himself into it, in order to exist. He is the fine nervous flower of the bourgeoisie.

The art of one period cannot be approached through the attitudes (emotional or intellectual) of another.