I Wondered If The Life That Was

One Afternoon Late In October Of The Year 1697, Euclide Auclair, The Philosopher Apothecary Of Quebec, Stood On The Top Of Cap Diamant Gazing Down The Broad, Empty River Far Beneath Him.

I Have Sometimes Thought That His Bursts Of Imaginative Talk Were Fatal To His Poetic Gift. He Squandered Too Much In The Heat Of Personal Communication.

The Sincerity Of Feeling That Is Possible Between A Writer And A Reader Is One Of The Finest Things I Know.

One May Have Staunch Friends In One's Own Family, But One Seldom Has Admirers.

If You Love The Good Thing Vitally, Enough To Give Up For It All That One Must Give Up, Then You Must Hate The Cheap Thing Just As Hard. I Tell You, There Is Such A Thing As Creative Hate! “a Contempt That Drives You Through Fire, Makes You Risk Everything And Lose Everything, Makes You A Long Sight Better Than You Ever Knew You Could Be.