Unless I can stretch and touch something hard, I shall be blown down the eternal corridors for ever. What then can I touch? What brick, what stone? and so draw myself across the enormous gulf into my body safely?

“Unpraised, I find it hard to start writing in the morning; but the dejection la…”

“But what might be written in the book which had rounded its edges off in his po…”

“It is worth mentioning, for future reference,that the creative power which bubb…”

“The tumult of the present seems like a elegy for past youth and past summers, a…”