And That Night We Knew That To

The Art Of Writing Is The Art Of Doing What You Think You're Doing. This Is Not As Simple As It Sounds. It Implies A Very Difficult Undertaking: The Necessity To Think. And It Implies The Requirement To Think Out Three Separate, Very Hard Problems: What Is It You Want To Say? How Are You Going To Say It? Have You Really Said It?

Productiveness Is Your Acceptance Of Morality, Your Recognition Of The Fact That You Choose To Live-that Productive Work Is The Process By Which Man's Consciousness Controls His Existence, A Constant Process Of Acquiring Knowledge And Shaping Matter To Fit One's Purpose, Of Translating An Idea Into Physical Form, Of Remaking The Earth In The Image Of One's Values-that All Work Is Creative Work If Done By A Thinking Mind.

I Know Not If This Earth On Which I Stand Is The Core Of The Universe Or If It Is But A Speck Of Dust Lost In Eternity. I Know Not And I Care Not. For I Know What Happiness Is Possible To Me On Earth. And My Happiness Needs No Higher Aim To Vindicate It. My Happiness Is Not The Means To Any End. It Is The End. It Is Its Own Goal. It Is Its Own Purpose.

I Am. I Think. I Will.

I Came Here To Say That I Do Not Recognize Anyone's Right To One Minute Of My Life.