Some People Have An Unconquerable Love Of

I Had A Farm In Africa, At The Foot Of The Ngong Hills.

I Had Seen A Herd Of Buffalo, One Hundred And Twenty-nine Of Them, Come Out Of The Morning Mist Under A Copper Sky, One By One, As If The Dark And Massive, Iron-like Animals With The Mighty Horizontally Swung Horns Were Not Approaching, But Were Being Created Before My Eyes And Sent Out As They Were Finished.

There Is A Particular Hapiness In Giving A Man Whom You Like Very Much, Good Food That You Have Cooked Yourself.

Write A Little Every Day, Without Hope, Without Despair.

Within Our Whole Universe The Story Only Has The Authority To Answer That Cry Of Heart Of Its Characters, That One Cry Of Heart Of Each Of Them: "who Am I?"