katherine mansfield

‘April 7. The heavens opened for the sunset to-night. When I had thought the day folded and sealed, came a burst of heavenly bright petals. I sat behind the window, pricked with rain, and looked until that hard thing in my breast melted and broke into the smallest fountain, murmuring as aforetime, and I drank the sky and the whisper.’ (p. 14)


Arnold Palmer, reviewer in de tijd dat Katherine Mansfields Journal voor het eerst werd gepubliceerd, schreef ooit het volgende:

‘What kind of journal is hers? Many of the thoughts set down in it are not at all profound, for profundity was only incidentally her aim. She was after truth, the true truth, the middle of the note. In a sort of way - in a sort of way - many other people could keep a journal of this kind. But they never do, never. That is the point.’

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