Here In Florida The Seasons Move In

But To Make The Intangible Tangible, To Pick The Emotion Out Of The Air And Make It True For Others, Is Both The Blessing And The Curse Of The Writer, For The Thing Between Book Covers Is Never As Beautiful As The Thing He Imagined.

A Woman Never Forgets The Men She Could Have Had; A Man, The Women He Couldn't

I Can Only Tell You That When Long Soul-searching And A Combination Of Circumstances Delivered Me Of My Last Prejudices, There Was An Exalted Sense Of Liberation. It Was Not The Negro Who Became Free, But I.

It Is Impossible To Be Among The Woods Animals On Their Own Ground Without A Feeling Of Expanding One's Own World, As When Any Foreign Country Is Visited.

Writing Is Agony For Me. I Work At It Eight Hours Every Day, Hoping To Get Six Pages, But I Am Satisfied With Three.