Everything Mortal Has Moments Immortal

All Books Are Either Dreams Or Swords, You Can Cut, Or You Can Drug, With Words.

Freighted With Hope, Crimsoned With Joy, We Scatter The Leaves Of Our Opening Rose.

Don’t Ask A Writer What He’s Working On. It’s Like Asking Someone With Cancer On The Progress Of His Disease.

How Hard, How Desperately Hard, Is The Way Of The Experimenter In Art!

Happiness, To Some, Elation; Is, To Others, Mere Stagnation.