I Could Not Live By Literature If

It Is Distraction, Not Meditation, That Becomes Habitual; Interruption, Not Continuity; Spasmodic, Not Constant Toil.

I Know That I Haven’t Powers Enough To Divide Myself Into One Who Earns And One Who Creates.

Literature Is A Place For Generosity And Affection And Hunger For Equals - Not A Prizefight Ring. We Are Increased, Confirmed In Our Medium, Roused To Do Our Best, By Every Good Writer, Every Fine Achievement. Would We Want One Good Writer Or Fine Book Less? The Sense Of Writers Being Pitted Against Each Other Is Bred Primarily By The Workings Of The Commercial Marketplace, And By Critics Lauding One Writer At The Expense Of Another While Ignoring The Existence Of Nearly All.

She Would Not Exchange Her Solitude For Anything. Never Again To Be Forced To Move To The Rhythms Of Others.

The Clock Talked Loud. I Threw It Away, It Scared Me What It Talked.