There Was Never An Angler Who Lived

I Am Tired. My Arm Aches. My Head Boils. My Feet Are Cold. But I Am Not Aware Of Any Weakness.

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

I Confess That Reading Proofs Is A Pleasure. It Stimulates And Inspires Me.

The Indian Story Has Never Been Written. Maybe I Am The Man To Do It.

I Hope I Have Found Myself, My Work, My Happiness - Under The Light Of The Western Skies.