People Only Tell Lies When There Is

When You Love A City And Have Explored It Frequently On Foot, Your Body, Not To Mention Your Soul, Gets To Know The Streets So Well After A Number Of Years That In A Fit Of Melancholy, Perhaps Stirred By A Light Snow Falling Ever So Sorrowfully, You'll Discover Your Legs Carrying You Of Their Own Accord Toward One Of Your Favourite Promontories

The Writers Secret Is Not Inspiration - For It Is Never Clear Where It Comes From - It Is His Stubbornness, His Patience.

For The Traveler We See Leaning On His Neighbor Is An Honest And Well-meaning Man And Full Of Melancholy, Like Those Chekhov Characters So Laden With Virtues That They Never Know Success In Life.

I Work Seven Days A Week, From 9 In The Morning Till 8 At Night. I Have The Titles Of The Next Eight Novels I Want To Write. I Feel Myself Pitiable, Degraded On A Day That I Don't Write.

People Only Tell Lies When There Is Something They Are Terribly Frightened Of Losing.