Truth is always strange; stranger than fiction; if it could be told, how much would novels gain by the exchange! How differently the world would men behold!
The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what Fiction means.
Fiction is to the grown man what play is to the child; it is there that he changes the atmosphere and tenor of his life.
Fiction is like a spider’s web, attached ever so lightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners. Often the attachment is scarcely perceptible.
After all – I suppose fiction is founded on the truth. I mean unless things did happen, people couldn’t think of them.
