Curiosity Is The Hunger Of The Human

The Longest Lives Are Short; Our Work Lasts Longer.

I'm Not "filled With My Art". I Ain't Got No Art. I've Got Only A Kind Of Craftsman's Skill, And Make Stories As I Make Biscuits Or Embroider Underwear Or Wrap Up Packages.

The First Twenty Years Of My Life Were Wasted. I Didn't Fit My Environment, And I Didn't Know Any Other.

It Was Not Seen That Woman's Place Was In The Home Until She Began To Go Out Of It; The Statement Was A Reply To An Unspoken Challenge, It Was Attempted Resistance To Irresistible Change.

Even The Street, The Sunshine, The Very Air Had A Special Sunday Quality. We Walked Differently On Sundays, With Greater Propriety And Stateliness. Greetings Were More Formal, More Subdued, Voices More Meticulously Polite. Everything Was So Smooth, Bland, Polished. And Genuinely So, Because This Was Sunday. In Church The Rustling And The Stillness Were Alike Pervaded With The Knowledge That All Was For The Best. Propriety Ruled The Universe. God Was In His Heaven, And We Were In Our Sunday Clothes.