I am no uncompromising artistic pedant; I am quite willing to try and do the kind of work that will sell; under the circumstances it would be a kind of insanity if I refused.

But power doesn't answer to the will.

My efforts are utterly vain; I suppose the prospect of pennilessness is itself a hindrance; the fear haunts me.

With such terrible real things pressing upon me, my imagination can shape nothing substantial.

When I have laboured out a story, I suddenly see it in a light of such contemptible triviality that to work at it is an impossible thing.' 'You are ill, that's the fact of the matter.