Madame, All Stories, If Continued Far Enough,

He Had Loved Too Much, Demanded Too Much, And He Wore It All Out.

I Read My Own Books Sometimes To Cheer Me When It Is Hard To Write, And Then I Remember That It Was Always Difficult, And How Nearly Impossible It Was Sometimes.

How Simple The Writing Of Literature Would Be If It Were Only Necessary To Write In Another Way What Has Been Well Written. It Is Because We Have Had Such Great Writers In The Past That A Writer Is Driven Far Out Past Where He Can Go, Out To Where No One Can Help Him.

All Stories, If Continued Far Enough, End In Death.

It's Silly Not To Hope. It's A Sin He Thought.