Art Is Too Long, And Life Is

You Become A Writer Because You Need To Become A Writer - Nothing Else.

I Didn't Intend To Become A Short-story Writer. I Became One Because I Finished A Couple Of Short Stories And Realized That's What I Wanted To Do And Could Do With Children And With All The Other Things In My Life.

This Hill Crossed With Broken Pines And Maples Lumpy With The Burial Mounds Of Uprooted Hemlocks (hurricane Of '38) Out Of Their Rotting Hearts Generations Rise Trying Once More To Become The Forest Just Beyond Them Tall Enough To Be Called Trees In Their Youth Like Aspen A Bouquet Of Young Beech Is Gathered They Still Wear Last Summer's Leaves The Lightest Brown Almost Translucent How Their Stubbornness Has Decorated The Winter Woods.

When You Think Of Things That Influenced Your Life, Mother Goose Influenced More People Than Almost Any Other Thing, The Rhythms Of Those Poems. Everything After That Was A Bare Imitation Of Some Of Those Mysterious And Materialistic Poems.

Art Is Too Long, And Life Is Too Short.