My Eyes Were Glued On Life And

Somewhere Along The Line, The Pearl Would Be Handed To Me.

And The Story Of Love Is A Long Sad Tale Ending In Graves.

It Seemed Like A Matter Of Minutes When We Began Rolling In The Foothills Before Oakland And Suddenly Reached A Height And Saw Stretched Out Ahead Of Us The Fabulous White City Of San Francisco On Her Eleven Mystic Hills With The Blue Pacific And Its Advancing Wall Of Potato-patch Fog Beyond, And Smoke And Goldenness In The Late Afternoon Of Time.

I'm Going To Marry My Novels And Have Little Short Stories For Children.

The Best Teacher Is Experience And Not Through Someone's Distorted Point Of View