I Have More To Say Than Hemingway,

I See A Green Tree. And To Me It Is Green. And You Would Call The Tree Green Also. And We Would Agree On This. But Is The Colour You See As Green The Same Colour I See As Green?

The Writer Must Hew The Phantom Rock.

There Is No Stillness Like The Quiet Of The First Cold Nights In The Fall.

After The First Establishment Of Identity There Comes The Imperative Need To Lose This New-found Sense Of Separateness And To Belong To Something Larger And More Powerful Than The Weak, Lonely Self. The Sense Of Moral Isolation Is Intolerable To Us.

The People Dreamed And Fought And Slept As Much As Ever. And By Habit They Shortened Their Thoughts So That They Would Not Wander Out Into The Darkness Beyond Tomorrow.