Jealously Was An Unjust And Stifling Thing.

Every Once In A While I Feel The Tremendous Force Of The Novel. But It Does Not Stay With Me.

What Is Writing But An Expression Of My Own Life?

Writing Was Like Digging Coal. I Sweat Blood. The Spell Is On Me.

If I Fished Only To Capture Fish, My Fishing Trips Would Have Ended Long Ago.

I Hope I Have Found Myself, My Work, My Happiness - Under The Light Of The Western Skies.