It Is What We Are Forced To

I Like To Compare My Method With That Of Painters Centuries Ago, Proceeding From Layer To Layer.

Because The World To-day Is So Constructed That No One Can Do What He Would Like To Do, And He Is Forced, Instead, To Do What Others Wish Him To Do. Because The Question Of Money Always Intrudes—into What We Do, Into What We Are, Into What We Wish To Become, Into Our Work, Into Our Highest Aspirations, Even Into Our Relations With The People We Love!

I Do Not Foresee A Time When I Shall Feel That I Have Nothing To Say.

The Novel As We Knew It In The Nineteenth Century Was Killed Off By Proust And Joyce.

When I Sit At My Table To Write, I Never Know What It's Going To Be Until I'm Under Way. I Trust In Inspiration, Which Sometimes Comes And Sometimes Doesn't. But I Don't Sit Back Waiting For It. I Work Every Day.