I think that voice held him most, with its fluctuating, feverish warmth, because it couldn’t be over-dreamed—that voice was a deathless song.

“I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human hea…”

“It is the custom to look back on ourselves of the boom days with a disapproval …”

“Nobody ever became a writer just by wanting to be one. If you have anything to …”

“The first lights of the evening were springing into pale existence. The Ferris …”