All you need now is to stand at the window and let your rhythmical sense open and shut, open and shut, boldly and freely, until one thing melts in another, until the taxis are dancing with the daffodils, until a whole has been made from all these separate fragments.

“El tiempo vuela, oh sí; el verano pronto estará aquí; y todavía soy capaz de pa…”

“Una donna deve avere soldi e una stanza suoi propri se vuole scrivere romanzi.”

“The real novelist, the perfectly simple human being, could go on, indefinitely …”

“We think back through our mothers and grandmothers, if we are women.”