Whoever Said Love Conquers All Was A

I Don't Know What It Is That Makes A Writer Go To His Desk In His Shut-off Room Day After Day After Year After Year Unless It Is The Sure Knowledge That Not To Have Done The Daily Stint Of Writing That Day Is Infinitely More Agonizing Than To Write.

Most Of The Men Regarded Europe As A Wine List. In Their Mental Geography Rheims, Rhine, Moselle, Bordeaux, Champagne, Or Würzburg Were Not Localities But Libations.

I'm Tired Of Hearing You Men Say That This And That And The Other Isn't Woman's Work. Any Work Is Woman's Work That A Woman Can Do Well.

Any Piece Of Furniture, I Don't Care How Beautiful It Is, Has Got To Be Lived With, And Kicked About, And Rubbed Down, And Mistreated By Servants, And Repolished, And Knocked Around And Dusted And Sat On Or Slept In Or Eaten Off Of Before It Develops Its Real Character ... A Good Deal Like Human Beings.

Only Amateurs Say That They Write For Their Own Amusement. Writing Is Not An Amusing Occupation. It Is A Combination Of Ditch-digging, Mountain-climbing, Treadmill And Childbirth. Writing May Be Interesting, Absorbing, Exhilarating, Racking, Relieving. But Amusing? Never!