I Became A Writer In Spite Of

Coming, As I Do, From Mountain Folk On One Side And Sea Followers On The Other, There Are Few Old Songs Of The Hills Or The Sea With Which I Am Not Familiar.

Civilization Is A Network And A Maze Of Precedences And Custom.

What Is Death But A Traversing Of Eternities And A Crossing Of Cosmic Oceans?

What Do I Know Of Cultured Ways, The Gilt, The Craft And The Lie? I, Who Was Born In A Naked Land And Bred In The Open Sky. The Subtle Tongue, The Sophist Guile, They Fail When The Broadswords Sing; Rush In And Die, Dogs—i Was A Man Before I Was A King.

Man Is Better Without Knowledge Of Things To Come, For What Is To Be Will Be, And Man Can Neither Avert Nor Hasten. It Is Better To Go In The Dark When The Road Must Pass A Lion And There Is No Other Road.