I Have Found That Each Of My

But To Make The Intangible Tangible, To Pick The Emotion Out Of The Air And Make It True For Others, Is Both The Blessing And The Curse Of The Writer, For The Thing Between Book Covers Is Never As Beautiful As The Thing He Imagined.

Now, Having Left Cities Behind Me, Turned Away Forever From The Strange, Gregarious Huddling Of Men By Stones, I Find Those Various Great Towns I Knew Fused Into One, Burned Together In The Fire Of My Despising.

For Myself, The Creek Satisfies A Thing That Had Gone Hungry And Unfed Since Childhood Days. I Am Often Lonely. Who Is Not? But I Should Be Lonelier In The Heart Of A City.

No, I Most Certainly Do Not Think Advertising People Are Wonderful. I Think They Are Horrible, And The Worst Menace To Mankind, Next To War; Perhaps Ahead Of War. They Stand For The Material Viewpoint, For The Importance Of Possessions, Of Desire, Of Envy, Of Greed. And War Comes From These Things.

Hemingway, Damn His Soul, Makes Everything He Writes Terrifically Exciting (and Incidentally Makes All Us Second-raters Seem Positively Adolescent) By The Seemingly Simple Expedient Of The Iceberg Principle - Three-fourths Of The Substance Under The Surface. He Comes Closer That Way To Retaining The Magic Of The Original, Unexpressed Idea Or Emotion, Which Is Always More Stirring Than Any Words. But Just Try And Do It!