" Then he went on: "I have read all your books--I did not
read them," he added with a smile, "that I might talk to you about
them, but because they have interested me. May I say that each book
has been stronger and better than the last, except in one case"--he
mentioned the name of a book of mine--"in which you seemed to me to
be republishing earlier work." "Yes," I said, "you are quite right;
I was tempted by a publisher and I fell." "Well," he said, "the
book was a good one--and there is something that we lose as we grow
older, a sort of youthfulness, a courageous indiscretion, a
beautiful freedom of thought; but we can't have everything, and
one's books must take their appropriate colours from the mind. May
I say that I think your books have grown more and more mature,
tolerant, artistic, wise?--and the last was simply admirable. It
entirely engrossed me, and for a blessed day or two I lived in your
mind, and saw out of your eyes. I am sure it was a great book--a
noble and a large-hearted book, full of insight and faith--the
best kind of book." I murmured something; and he said, "You may
think it is arrogant of me to speak like this; but I have lived
among books, and I am sure that I have a critical gift, mainly
because I have no power of expression.
Pages:
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313