I'm Tired Of Hearing You Men Say

I Sat Staring Up At A Shelf In My Workroom From Which Thirty-one Books Identically Dressed In Neat Dark Green Leather Stared Back At Me With A Sort Of Cold Hostility Like Children Who Resent Their Parents. Don't Stare At Us Like That! They Said. Don't Blame Us If We Didn't Turn Out To Be The Perfection You Expected. We Didn't Ask To Be Brought Into The World.

Writing, To Be Memorable, Must Be Done In A State Of Impassioned Serenity.

The Astronomers Tell Us That Other Planets Are Gifted With Two - Four - Even Nine Lavish Moons. Imagine The Romantic Possibilities Of Nine Moons.

I Don't Know What It Is That Makes A Writer Go To His Desk In His Shut-off Room Day After Day After Year After Year Unless It Is The Sure Knowledge That Not To Have Done The Daily Stint Of Writing That Day Is Infinitely More Agonizing Than To Write.

The Writer Is A Writer Because He Cannot Help It. It Is A Compulsion.