Long is the road from conception to completion.
The world, dear Agnes, is a strange affair.
Heaven forbids, it is true, certain gratifications, but there are ways and means of compounding such matters.
The road is a long one from the projection of a thing to its accomplishment.
The absence of the beloved, short though it may last, always lasts too long.
The maturing process of becoming a writer is akin to that of a harlot. First you do it for love, then for a few friends, and finally only for money.