I can’t tell you, or can tell you only with awkward brevity, how your essay has moved and pleased me.
But you are a poet and need not go into the fields to bring back flowers. Don’t complain about not having learned. There is nothing to know.
Yes, I’ll admit nine acts and two evenings do sound a bit impractical but I don’t think they will be. I need a producer with courage, not necessarily one with much money.
With all my skepticism, for all my self-analysis, I’m in love. I need it as a thirsty man needs water. And I know it’s poison.
…I’m becoming more and more a communist. I think it must be coming nearer—an inevitable thing. I guess this time is good for all of us.
Your letter also touched me up a bit and got me a little hot under the collar when you asked me if I was ever going to do it again, or if the old well had gone dry. I will tell you the plain truth to start with which is—I will be damned if I know myself…
Theirs is not writing, but chirping; they chirp and then sulk. And I don’t like the writer Avilova because she writes so little. . Women authors should write a great deal, if they want to master the art; just take these Englishwomen as an example.
This is what I’d say to our academic critics, if I were asked: …You are thinking of something very dead and likely to be smelly very soon—one of the first things that is done at an autopsy is to measure and weigh the corpse.
I am not carried away by music, like certain young poets. I grant love to the word (!) and not to the sound.
Charlotte Brontë met Ellen Nussey while attending the Roe Head school in Dewbury, Yorkshire, in 1833. The Reverend Brontë, believing Nussey to be a suitable companion for his daughters, allowed her to stay for extensive visits at the parsonage. She … Continued