Imagination Takes Humility, Love And Great Courage.

The Writer Must Hew The Phantom Rock.

The Dimensions Of A Work Of Art Are Seldom Realized By The Author Until The Work Is Accomplished. It Is Like A Flowering Dream. Ideas Grow, Budding Silently, And There Are A Thousand Illuminations Coming Day By Day As The Work Progresses. A Seed Grows In Writing As In Nature. The Seed Of The Idea Is Developed By Both Labor And The Unconscious, And The Struggle That Goes On Between Them.

Love Is The Bridge That Leads From The I Sense To The We, And There Is A Paradox About Personal Love. Love Of Another Individual Opens A New Relation Between The Personality And The World. The Lover Responds In A New Way To Nature And May Even Write Poetry. Love Is Affirmation; It Motivates The Yes Responses And The Sense Of Wider Communication. Love Casts Out Fear, And In The Security Of This Togetherness We Find Contentment, Courage. We No Longer Fear The Age-old Haunting Questions: "who Am I?" "why Am I?" "where Am I Going?" - And Having Cast Out Fear, We Can Be Honest And Charitable.

I Meditated On Love And Reasoned It Out. I Realized What Is Wrong With Us. Men Fall In Love For The First Time. And What Do They Fall In Love With? ...they Fall In Love With A Woman. They Start At The Wrong End Of Love. They Begin At The Climax. Can You Wonder It Is So Miserable? Do You Know How Men Should Love? A Tree. A Rock. A Cloud.

A Writer Soon Discovers He Has No Single Identity But Lives The Lives Of All The People He Creates And His Weathers Are Independent Of The Actual Day Around Him. I Live With The People I Create And It Has Always Made My Essential Loneliness Less Keen.