When A Job Is To Be Done

All Of The People Of My Time Were Bound With Chains. They Had Forgotten The Long Fields And The Standing Corn. They Had Forgotten The West Winds.

It Is All Right You're Saying You Do Not Need Other People, But There Are A Lot Of People Who Need You.

Realism, In So Far As The Word Means Reality To Life, Is Always Bad Art.

The Writer, An Old Man With A White Moustache, Had Some Difficulty Getting Into Bed.

I Think You Know That When An American Stays Away From New York Too Long Something Happens To Him. Perhaps He Becomes A Little Provincial, A Little Dead And Afraid.