You're Awfully Dark, Brother," He Said. "you

We Ate Well And Cheaply And Drank Well And Cheaply And Slept Well And Warm Together And Loved Each Other.

They Can't Yank A Novelist Like They Can A Pitcher. A Novelist Has To Go The Full Nine, Even If It Kills Him.

In War, One Cannot Say What One Feels.

But Sometimes When I Was Starting A New Story And I Could Not Get It Going, I Would Sit In Front Of The Fire And Squeeze The Peel Of The Little Oranges Into The Edge Of The Flame And Watch The Sputter Of Blue That They Made. I Would Stand And Look Out Over The Roofs Of Paris And Think, 'do Not Worry. You Have Always Written Before And You Will Write Now. All You Have To Do Is Write One True Sentence. Write The Truest Sentence That You Know.' So Finally I Would Write One True Sentence, And Then Go On From There.

There Isn't Any Me. I'm You. Don't Make Up A Separate Me.