We Live Not Only In A World

Words Without Experience Are Meaningless.

I Have The European Urge To Use My Feet When A Drive Can Be Dispensed With.

Here Lies The Sense Of Literary Creation To Portray Ordinary Objects As They Will Be Reflected In Kindly Mirrors Of Future Times. . . . To Find In Objects Around Us The Fragrant Tenderness That Only Posterity Will Discern . . .

I Still Dwelled Deep In My Elected Paradise--a Paradise Whose Skies Were The Color Of Hell-flames--but Still A Paradise.

There Is Only One School Of Literature - That Of Talent.