Don't You Think That As A People,

I Have Known Many Gods. He Who Denies Them Is As Blind As He Who Trusts Them Too Deeply. I See Not Beyond Death. Let Me Live While I Live; Let Me Know The Rich Juices Of Red Meat And Stinging Wine On My Palate, The Hot Embrace Of White Arms, The Mad Exultation Of Battle When The Blue Blades Flame And Crimson, And I Am Content. I Know This: If Life Is An Illusion, Then I Am No Less Than An Illusion, And Being Thus, The Illusion Is Real To Me. I Live, I Burn With Life, I Love, I Slay, And Am Content.

The Printed Page Was Like Wine To Me.

I Became A Writer In Spite Of My Environments.

I Think The Real Reason So Many Youngsters Are Clamoring For Freedom Of Some Vague Sort, Is Because Of Unrest And Dissatisfaction With Present Conditions; I Don't Believe This Machine Age Gives Full Satisfaction In A Spiritual Way, If The Term May Be Allowed.

How Can I Wear The Harness Of Toil And Sweat At The Daily Round, While In My Soul Forever The Drums Of Pictdom Sound?