Writers Are As Jealous As Pigeons.

It Is A Bad Thing If A Writer Tackles A Subject He Does Not Understand.

Writers Are As Jealous As Pigeons.

He Had Two Lives: One, Open, Seen And Known By All Who Cared To Know, Full Of Relative Truth And Of Relative Falsehood, Exactly Like The Lives Of His Friends And Acquaintances; And Another Life Running Its Course In Secret. And Through Some Strange, Perhaps Accidental, Conjunction Of Circumstances, Everything That Was Essential, Of Interest And Of Value To Him, Everything In Which He Was Sincere And Did Not Deceive Himself, Everything That Made The Kernel Of His Life, Was Hidden From Other People.

A Writer Is Not A Confectioner, A Cosmetic Dealer, Or An Entertainer.

Everyone Has The Same God; Only People Differ.