letters are venerable; and the telephone valiant, for the journey is a lonely one, and if bound together by notes and telephones we went in company, perhaps - who knows? - we might talk by the way.

A million candles burnt in him without his being at the trouble of lighting a single one

But I think I’m coloured by my own wishes, & experimental mood.

I want to write a novel about Silence," he said; “the things people don’t say.

I will dream today; for I must unscrew my head somehow.

For such will be our ruin if you, in the immensity of your public abstractions, forget the private figure, or if we in the intensity of our private emotions forget the public world. Both houses will be ruined, the public and the private, the material and the spiritual, for they are inseparably connected.

Am I a weed, carried this way, that way, on a tide that comes twice a day without a meaning?