What Is The World At Its Best

Those Whom We First Love We Seldom Marry

Yes, I Get Dry Spells. Sometimes I Can't Turn Out A Thing For Three Months. When One Of Those Spells Comes On I Quit Trying To Work And Go Out And See Something Of Life. You Can't Write A Story That's Got Any Life In It By Sitting At A Writing Table And Thinking. You've Got To Get Out Into The Streets, Into The Crowds, Talk With People, And Feel The Rush And Throb Of Real Life-that's The Stimulant For A Story Writer.

There Is One Day That Is Ours. Thanksgiving Day Is The One Day That Is Purely American.

Of Habit, The Power That Keeps The Earth From Flying To Pieces; Though There Is Some Silly Theory Of Gravitation.

But The Best, In My Opinion, Was The Home Life In The Little Flat--the Ardent, Voluble Chats After The Day's Study; The Cozy Dinners And Fresh, Light Breakfasts; The Interchange Of Ambitions--ambitions Interwoven Each With The Other's Or Else Inconsiderable--the Mutual Help And Inspiration; And--overlook My Artlessness--stuffed Olives And Cheese Sandwiches At 11 P.m.