A Tragic Irony Of Life Is That

O God, Let Me Write Books! Please, God, Let Me Write Books!

I Don't Like Human Nature, But I Do Like Human Beings.

I Suppose I Am A Born Novelist, For The Things I Imagine Are More Vital And Vivid To Me Than The Things I Remember.

As Far Back As I Remember, Long Before I Could Write, I Had Played At Making Stories. But Not Until I Was Seven Or More, Did I Begin To Pray Every Night, "o God, Let Me Write Books! Please, God, Let Me Write Books!"

In Her Abhorrrence Of A Vacuum, Nature, For The Furtherance Of Her Favorite Hobby, Has Often To Resort To Strange Devices. If She Could But Understand That Vacuity Is Sometimes Better Than Superfluity!