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This blasts out of existence forever all the puerile ties of the dum te dum versifiers and puts it up to the reader to be a man—if possible.

I hope that all goes well, in spite of the miserable state of the world at large, with you and your family…

My poor Henry, my darling, my pride, my glory, my all, will have finished his blameless career, and the light of my life will have gone out in utter darkness. O, God! this is hard to bear…

Back in my cave! Back in my solitude! By dint of being in a bad way, I’m in a good way…

Your word months ago that you were sure it would be a long war terrified me, but now I draw comfort from it. Long enough to sustain the best we know, and long enough for America to help…

I’m not anti-Church by the way, but it’s intolerable that a man of Allen’s vitality should go the Tartuffian dumbshow of a fraudulent conversion…

I’m looking at boxes of Roger Fry’s letters and wondering how anyone writes a real life. An imaginary one wouldn’t so much bother me…

I’ve never even had a remote insight into what was going to happen in any of my short stories, and I’ve always gone into them fully conscious of that fact, full of curiosity as to what it was going to be about…

You must not be profane, Ezra, without cause; or penny wise (no pun intended). Not to be in context where one belongs is misleading.

I am like Mariana in the moated grange and sit listening too often to the mouse in the wainscot.