But By The Time That I Had

I Had Seen A Herd Of Buffalo, One Hundred And Twenty-nine Of Them, Come Out Of The Morning Mist Under A Copper Sky, One By One, As If The Dark And Massive, Iron-like Animals With The Mighty Horizontally Swung Horns Were Not Approaching, But Were Being Created Before My Eyes And Sent Out As They Were Finished.

To Me, The Explanation Of Life Seems To Be Its Melody, Its Pattern. And I Feel In Life Such An Infinite, Truly Inconceivable Fantasy.

There Is Something Strangely Determinate And Fatal About A Single Shot In The Night. It Is As If Someone Had Cried A Message To You In One Word, And Would Not Repeat It.

Write A Little Every Day, Without Hope, Without Despair.

It Is Impossible That A Town Will Not Play A Part In Your Life, It Does Not Even Make Much Difference Whether You Have More Good Or Bad Things To Say Of It, It Draws Your Mind To It, By A Mental Law Of Gravitation.