noise is a pollution.

no one wants to be praised for possibilities when one has submitted performances.

And another day is tucked under my wing.

[John Craske] painted like a man giving witness under oath to a wild story.

In the morning I had decided that henceforth I only cared for easy loves. It is so degrading to have to persuade people into liking one, or one's works.

A story demanded to be written, and that is why I have not answered your letter before: a wrong-headed story, that would come blundering like a moth on my window, and stare in with small red eyes, and I the last writer in the world to manage such a subject. One should have more self-control. One should be able to say, Go away. You have come to the wrong inkstand, there is nothing for you here. But I am so weakminded that I cannot even say, Come next week.

Happy is the day whose history is not written down.