And The Day Came When The Risk

When I Stand At The Top Of The Champs-elysées, With Its Chestnut Trees In Flower, Its Undulations Of Shining Cars, Its White Spaciousness, I Feel As If I Were Biting Into A Utopian Fruit, Something Velvety And Lustrous And Rich And Vivid.

The Dream Has To Be Translated Into Reality.

I Postpone Death By Living, By Suffering, By Error, By Risking, By Giving, By Losing.

I Believe One Writes Because One Has To Create A World In Which One Can Live.

We Must Protect The Minority Writers Because They Are The Research Workers Of Literature. They Keep It Alive. It Has Been Fashionable Of Late To Seek Out And Force Such Writers Into More Popular Channels, To The Detriment Of Both Writer And An Unprepared Public.