This is not writing at all. Indeed, I could say that Shakespeare surpasses literature altogether, if I knew what I meant.

I really don't advise a woman who wants to have things her own way to get married

Moments like this are buds on the tree of life. Flowers of darkness they are.

Peace was the third emotion. Love. Hate. Peace. Three emotions made the ply of human life.

...the problem of space remained, she thought, taking up her brush again. It glared at her. The whole mass of the picture was poised upon that weight. Beautiful and bright it should be on the surface, feathery and evanescent, one colour melting into another like the colours on a butterfly's wing; but beneath the fabric must be clamped together with bolts of iron.

Criticism? An artist wants praise. Praise.

Then may I tell you that the very next words I read were these – ‘Chloe liked Olivia…’ Do not start. Do not blush. Let us admit in the privacy of our own society that these things sometimes happen. Sometimes women do like women.