It Is A Hell Of A Thing

When We Came Back To Paris It Was Clear And Cold And Lovely.

[never Give Up Hope. Never Give In To Pessimism. Never Despair.] No Horse Named Morbid Ever Won A Race!

I Would Walk Along The Quais When I Had Finished Work Or When I Was Trying To Think Something Out. It Was Easier To Think If I Was Walking And Doing Something Or Seeing People Doing Something That They Understood.

There Is No Rule On How To Write. Sometimes It Comes Easily And Perfectly; Sometimes It's Like Drilling Rock And Then Blasting It Out With Charges.

I Always Rewrite Each Day Up To The Point Where I Stopped. When It Is All Finished, Naturally You Go Over It. You Get Another Chance To Correct And Rewrite When Someone Else Types It, And You See It Clean In Type. The Last Chance Is In The Proofs. You're Grateful For These Different Chances.