Those who fear the imagination condemn it: something childish, they say, something monsterish, misbegotten. Not all of us dream awake. But those of us who do have no choice.

¡Oh, Dios mío, es inconcebible! ¡No puedo vivir sin mi vida! ¡No puedo vivir si mi alma!

It wouldn't be the first time she had seen herself obliged to accept with smothered irony other people's interpretation of her conduct. She often ended by giving up to them --it seemed really the way to live --the version that met their convenience.

Written By Henry James

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