To Comfort Any Mortal Against Loneliness, One

Now He Understood. This Was Death. Death Was A Silence That Gave Back No Answer.

I Have Found That Each Of My Books Has Developed Out Of Something I Have Written In A Previous Book. Some Thought Evidently Unfinished.

Information Can Be Passed From One To Another, Like A Silver Dollar. There's Absolutely No Wisdom Except What You Learn For Yourself.

But To Make The Intangible Tangible, To Pick The Emotion Out Of The Air And Make It True For Others, Is Both The Blessing And The Curse Of The Writer, For The Thing Between Book Covers Is Never As Beautiful As The Thing He Imagined.

It Is My Conviction That The Personality Of The Writer Has Nothing To Do With The Literate Product Of His Mind. And Publicity In This Case Embarrasses Me Because I Am Acutely Conscious Of How Far Short The Book Falls Of The Artistry I Am Struggling To Achieve. It's Like Being Caught Half-dressed.