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As for you, she went on, you don’t change. Yes, you are astonishing, you look so young’ a saddening remark, because, however we may look, it only means anything if we in fact grown old.

True books must be product not of chitchat and daylight but of darkness and silence. And as art exactly reconstructs life, an atmosphere of poetry will always hover around the truths that one has reached in oneself, a gentle sense of mystery which is merely the remains of the semi-darkness we have had to pass through, the indication, as precisely marked as on altimeter, of the depth of a work.