” Sometimes, the business part of writing grows very noxious to me, and I wonder if in heaven our best thoughts — poet’s thoughts, especially — will not be flowers, somehow, or some sort of beautiful live things that stand about and grow, and don’t have to be chaffed over and bought and sold. It seems as bad as selling our fellow beings, but being in this world everything must have a body.”
The letters of Sarah Orne Jewett, despite being about a hundred years old now, are not a bad thing to read. At least in a song remains the same sense.
1 note