I Want To Be All That I

I Am A Recluse At Present & Do Nothing But Write & Read & Read & Write

Wind Moving Through Grass So That The Grass Quivers. This Moves Me With An Emotion I Don't Even Understand.

Looking Back, I Imagine I Was Always Writing. Twaddle It Was Too. But Better Far Write Twaddle Or Anything, Anything, Than Nothing At All.

If Only One Could Tell True Love From False Love As One Can Tell Mushrooms From Toadstools. With Mushrooms It Is So Simple - You Salt Them Well, Put Them Aside And Have Patience. But With Love, You Have No Sooner Lighted On Anything That Bears Even The Remotest Resemblance To It Than You Are Perfectly Certain It Is Not Only A Genuine Specimen, But Perhaps The Only Genuine Mushroom Ungathered.

Regret Is An Appalling Waste Of Energy, And No One Who Intends To Be A Writer Can Afford To Indulge In It.