I Wish I Were Dead, Or That

Don't Be Led Away By Those Howls About Realism. Remember-pine Woods Are Just As Real As Pigsties And A Darn Sight Pleasanter To Be In.

You'll Never Write Anything That Really Satisfies You Though It May Satisfy Other People.

We Belong To The Race That Knows Joseph

I Read In A Book Once That A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet, But I've Never Been Able To Believe It. I Don't Believe A Rose Would Be As Nice If It Was Called A Thistle Or A Skunk Cabbage.

Behind Them In The Garden The Little Stone House Brooded Among The Shadows. It Was Lonely But Not Forsaken. It Had Not Yet Done With Dreams And Laughter And The Joy Of Life; There Were To Be Future Summers For The Little Stone House; Meanwhile, It Could Wait. And Over The River In Purple Durance The Echoes Bided Their Time.