Realism Is Death To Me. I Cannot

Before Exulatation Had Vanished, I Felt As If I Had Been Granted A Marvellous Privilege. Out Of The Inscrutable Waters A Beautiful Fish Had Somehow Leaped To Show Me Fleetingly The Life And Spirit Of His Element.

Fishing Is A Condition Of Mind Wherein You Cannot Possibly Have A Bad Time.

Men May Rise On Stepping Stones Of Their Dead Selves To Higher Things.

These Critics Who Crucify Me Do Not Guess The Littlest Part Of My Sincerity. They Must Be Burned In A Blaze. I Cannot Learn From Them.

No One Connected Intimately With A Writer Has Any Appreciation Of His Temperament, Except To Think Him Overdoing Everything.