I Confess That Reading Proofs Is A

I Did Not Have One Bad Spell During Writing - An Unprecedented Record.

What Is Writing But An Expression Of My Own Life?

Love Grows More Tremendously Full, Swift, Poignant, As The Years Multiply.

I Am Tired. My Arm Aches. My Head Boils. My Feet Are Cold. But I Am Not Aware Of Any Weakness.

There Are Hours When I Must Force The Novel Out Of My Mind And Be Interested In The Children.