We Are Homesick Most For The Places

Sometimes This Fellow's Music Was Like Little Colored Pieces Of Crystal Candy, And Other Times It Was The Softest, Saddest Thing She Had Ever Imagined About.

When A Person Knows And Can't Make The Others Understand, What Does He Do?

The Dimensions Of A Work Of Art Are Seldom Realized By The Author Until The Work Is Accomplished. It Is Like A Flowering Dream. Ideas Grow, Budding Silently, And There Are A Thousand Illuminations Coming Day By Day As The Work Progresses. A Seed Grows In Writing As In Nature. The Seed Of The Idea Is Developed By Both Labor And The Unconscious, And The Struggle That Goes On Between Them.

And The Curt Truth Is That, In A Deep Secret Way, The State Of Being Loved Is Intolerable To Many.

Nothing Is So Musical As The Sound Of Pouring Bourbon For The First Drink On A Sunday Morning. Not Bach Or Schubert Or Any Of Those Masters.