All You Who Sleep Tonight Far From

Every Object Strives For Its Proper Place. A Book Seeks To Be Near Its Truest Admirer. Just As This Helpless Moth Seeks To Be Near The Candle That Infatuates Him.

Music, Such Music, Is A Sufficient Gift. Why Ask For Happiness; Why Hope Not To Grieve? It Is Enough, It Is To Be Blessed Enough, To Live From Day To Day And To Hear Such Music-not Too Much, Or The Soul Could Not Sustain It-from Time To Time.

I Simply Seem To Drift. But I Sort Of Allow The Drift, Because It Has A Kind Of Check - It Forces Me To Work Harder At What I'm Interested In.

Revision Has Its Own Peculiar Pleasures And Its Own Peculiar Frustrations. The Ground Rules Are Already Established; The Characters Already Exist. You Don't Have To Bring The Characters To Life, But You Do Have To Make Them More Convincing.

Boredom Provides A Stronger Inclination To Write Than Anything.