For him the universe did not extend beyond the circumference of her petticoat.
It's a delicious thing to write. To be no longer yourself but to move in an entire universe of your own creating.
It is a delicious thing to write, to be no longer yourself but to move in an entire universe of your own creating. Today, for instance, as man and woman, both lover and mistress, I rode in a forest on an autumn afternoon under the yellow leaves, and I was also the horses, the leaves, the wind, the words my people uttered, even the red sun that made them almost close their love-drowned eyes.
The author, in his work, must be like God in the Universe, present everywhere and visible nowhere.
My kingdom is as wide as the universe and my wants have no limits. I go forward always, freeing spirits and weighing words, without fear, without compassion, without love, without God. I am called science.
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