Nothing shows up the difference between the things said or read, so much as the daily experience of it.

It is necessary to write, if the days are not to slip emptily by. How else, indeed, to clap the net over the butterfly of the moment? For the moment passes, it is forgotten; the mood is gone; life itself is gone. That is where the writer scores over his fellows: he catches the changes of his mind on the hop.

Nothing shows up the difference between the things said or read, so much as the daily experience of it.

I suppose the pleasure of country life lies really in the eternally renewed evidences of the determination to live.

I loved you when love was Spring, and May, Loved you when summer deepened into June, and now when autumn yellows all the leaves.

Among the many problems which beset the novelist, not the least weighty is the choice of the moment at which to begin his novel.

I suppose the pleasure of the country life lies really in the eternally renewed evidences of the determination to live. That is a truism when said, but anything but a truism when daily observed. Nothing shows up the difference between the thing said or read, so much as the daily experience of it.