Words are the legs of the mind; they bear it about, carry It from point to point, bed it down at night, and keep it off the ground and out of the marsh and mists.

In the middle of the silence in a writer's house lies an invalid: the book being worked on.

A prettiness mummified by years of chalk dust.

Words are the legs of the mind; they bear it about, carry It from point to point, bed it down at night, and keep it off the ground and out of the marsh and mists.