The Disease We All Have And That

There Is This Thing Called Life. We Live It, Not As We Intend Or Wish, But As We Are Driven On By Forces Outside And Inside Ourselves.

If Our Family Was Poor, Of What Did Our Poverty Consist? If Our Clothes Were Torn The Torn Places Only Let In The Sun And Wind. In The Winter We Had No Overcoats, But That Only Meant We Ran Rather Than Loitered.

The Object Of Art Is Not To Make Salable Pictures. It Is To Save Yourself.

There Is A Time In The Life Of Every Boy When He For The First Time Takes The Backward View Of Life. Perhaps That Is The Moment When He Crosses The Line Into Manhood.

I Think That Those Of Us Who Are What Are Called Intellectuals Make A Terrible Mistake In Overvaluing The Yen We Have For The Arts, Books, Etc. There Is A Sweet, Fine Quality In Life That Has Nothing To Do With This, And More And More I Find Myself Valuing Myself With Those People.