Many People Must Live And Die Alone,

I Wanted To Run Away From Everything But I Wanted To Run Towards Something Too.

I Think The Whole Glory Of Writing Lies In The Fact That It Forces Us Out Of Ourselves And Into The Lives Of Others.

The Machines Men Are So Intent On Making Have Carried Them Very Far From The Old Sweet Things.

Most People Are Afraid To Trust Their Imaginations And The Artist Is Not.

Love Is Like A Wind Stirring The Grass Beneath Trees On A Black Night,' He Had Said. 'you Must Not Try To Make Love Definite. It Is The Divine Accident Of Life. If You Try To Be Definite And Sure About It And To Live Beneath The Trees, Where Soft Night Winds Blow, The Long Hot Day Of Disappointment Comes Swiftly And The Gritty Dust From Passing Wagons Gathers Upon Lips Inflamed And Made Tender By Kisses.