The Way You Write Affects What You

On A Late-winter Evening In 1983, While Driving Through Fog Along The Maine Coast, Recollections Of Old Campfires Began To Drift Into The March Mist, And I Thought Of The Abnaki Indians Of The Algonquin Tribe Who Dwelt Near Bangor A Thousand Years Ago.

People Who Are Greedy Have Extraordinary Capacities For Waste-they Must, They Take In Too Much.

The Irish Are The Only Men Who Know How To Cry For The Dirty Polluted Blood Of All The World.

There Is One Expanding Horror In American Life. It Is That Our Long Odyssey Toward Liberty, Democracy And Freedom-for-all May Be Achieved In Such A Way That Utopia Remains Forever Closed, And We Live In Freedom And Hell, Debased Of Style, Not Individual From One Another, Void Of Courage, Our Fear Rationalized Away.

You're Gambling With Something Vital. Most Writers Get Smashed Egos.