In Old Age We Are Like A

What Will I Do When I Can No Longer Dig?

A Word Can Be Transformed Into A Coulour, Light, A Smell; It Is The Writer's Task To Use It In Such A Way That It Serves, Never Fails, Can Never Be Ignored.

I Can't Even Make Up A Rhyme About An Umbrella, Let Alone Death And Life And Eternal Peace.

The Writer Must Be Able To Revel And Roll In The Abundance Of Words; He Must Know Not Only The Direct But Also The Secret Power Of A Word. There Are Overtones And Undertones To A Word, And Lateral Echoes, Too.

The Intelligent Poor Individual Was A Much Finer Observer Than The Intelligent Rich One. The Poor Individual Looks Around Him At Every Step, Listens Suspiciously To Every Word He Hears From The People He Meets; Thus, Every Step He Takes Presents A Problem, A Task, For His Thoughts And Feelings. He Is Alert And Sensitive, He Is Experienced, His Soul Has Been Burned.