Tag Archives: inspiration

“And the wind swoops at me round the corner, like a lion, and fluffs the snow in my face”

Posted on June 4, 2018 by mafalda

[Dots between square brackets indicate cuts made by Sidney Colvin. For full, correct and critical edition of this letter, see Mehew 6, 1944.] To Sidney Colvin [Colvin 1911, 3, pp. 39-41] Saranac Lake [c. 20 December 1887] My dear Colvin,This … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson, Senza categoria | Tagged Aeneid, Amata, bleakness, Burns, catarrh, chill, Circe, Colvin, Darwinian Sermon, Davos, delight, eating, elsewhere, essays, fashion, French, Gillson, grey, health, heaven, income, inspiration, J.P., James, landscape, Latin, Meredith, money, papers, Pulviset Umbra, Robert Louis Stevenson, Roderick Hudson, Saranac Lake, Scotch, Scotland, Scribner's Magazine, sentiments, sermon, Smith, snow, song, spelling, veranda, wind, winter, woods | 1 Comment

“We shall steal incognito into la bonne ville”

Posted on January 22, 2018 by mafalda

[As usual, for correct and critical edition of this letter, see Mehew 5, 1863.] To Will H. Low [Colvin 1911, 2, p. 380] [Skerryvore, Bournemouth, August 6th, 1887] My dear Low, We ― my mother, my wife, my … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged Fanny Stevenson, French, health, inspiration, Lloyd Osbourne, Low, Ludgate Hill, maidservant, Margaret Isabella Stevenson, mother, New York, Newport, Robert Louis Stevenson, Scribners, Skerryvore, stepson, The Canoe Speaks, Underwoods, verses, voyage, wife, Wilson line | 2 Comments

“But the odd problem is: what makes a story true?”

Posted on November 18, 2017 by mafalda

[As usual, for correct and critical edition of this letter, see Mehew 5, 1766.] To Lady Taylor [Colvin 1912, pp. 222-223] [Skerryvore, Bournemouth, c. 22 February, 1887] My dear Lady Taylor, I don’t know but what I agree fairly well … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged cat, disease, evil, false, Fanny, fantasia, health, inspiration, irreverence, Lady Taylor, Lloyd, man, Marhheim, Merry Men, Olalla, readers, Robert Louis Stevenson, sea, Skerryvore, style, Thrawn Janet, thrilling, true, vision | Leave a comment

There is but one art — to omit! O if I knew how to omit, I would ask no other knowledge

Posted on December 9, 2015 by mafalda

[As usual, dots between square brackets indicate cuts made by Sidney Colvin. For full, correct and critical edition of this letter, see Mehew 4,1148.] To Bob Stevenson [Colvin 1911, 2, pp. 172-175] La Sotitude, Hyères [? 30 October 1883] My … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged art, blindness, Bob, Bough, Fanny, friends, health, idealism, inspiration, omit, painter, Robert Louis Stevenson, seeing, significance, studio, symbols | 2 Comments

I always feel as if I must write a work of genius some time or other

Posted on January 25, 2015 by mafalda

[As usual, dots between square brackets indicate cuts made by Sidney Colvin. For full, correct and critical edition of this letter, see Mehew 3, 698.] To Sidney Colvin [Colvin 1911, 1, pp. 335-336] P.O. S.F. Cal. [East Oakland, mid-April 1880.] … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged addresses, affairs, brook, California, copies, danger, delighted, dictionaries, Euclid, family, Fanny, fishing, French, furniture, genius, grammar, Hayleyistic, health, hills, History, hunting, inspiration, Latin, Lloyd, Lope de Vega, man, marriage, morbid, motto, mountains, Oakland, pine-trees, play, poems, Post Office, printing, proff, Psalms, quarrel, ranche, revolution, Robert Louis Stevenson, San Francisco, self-depreciation, sentiments, shaky, Sidney Colvin, singing, sister, sketching, Spanish, strength, study, Styx, tepid, vehemence, versifications, virgin forest, weather, works | 4 Comments

Tag Archives: inspiration

“And the wind swoops at me round the corner, like a lion, and fluffs the snow in my face”

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“We shall steal incognito into la bonne ville”

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“But the odd problem is: what makes a story true?”

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There is but one art — to omit! O if I knew how to omit, I would ask no other knowledge

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I always feel as if I must write a work of genius some time or other

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