You know: in a foolish, undiscriminating way, I've been happy these last few months. I don't know why. I just am. I love my friends; I love my pupils; I love what I read; I -- dammit -- love my thoughts. I love the taste of oranges.
Thornton Wilder in a letter to Gertrude Stein, Aug 14, 1936

Sunday, June 19, 2011


This would be, precisely, on the subject of that freedom, which she now quickly spoke of as complete. "That's of course by itself a great boon; so please don't think I don't know it. I can do exactly what I like -- anything in the wide world. I haven't a creature to ask -- there's not a finger to stop me. I can shake about till I'm black and blue. That perhaps isn't all joy, but lots of people, I know, would like to try it." He appeared about to put a question, but then had let her go on, which she promptly did, for she understood him the next moment as having taken it from her that her means were as great as might be. She had simply given it to him, so this was all that would ever pass between them on the odious head...All her little pieces had now fallen together for him like the morsels of coloured glass that used to make combinations, under the hand, in the depths of one of the polygonal peepshows of childhood.

Henry James,  The Wings of the Dove

(For Mr. James's further thoughts on Ms Hilton, follow the labels below.)

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