One Martini Is Just Right. Two Martinis

Painting, It Is True, Was Undergoing A Series Of -isms Reminiscent Of The Whims Of A Pregnant Woman.

I Honestly Believe That Everything I Know About The Writing Of Non-fiction (or Writing) Could Be Engraved On The Head Of A Pin With A Garden Hoe.

Write One Good Clean Sentence And Put A Period At The End Of It. Then Write Another One.

I Am More Modest Now, But I Still Think That One Of The Pleasantest Of All Emotions Is To Know That I, I With My Brain And My Hands, Have Nourished My Beloved Few, That I Have Concocted A Stew Or A Story, A Rarity Or A Plain Dish, To Sustain Them Truly Against The Hungers Of The World.

No Yoga Exercise, No Meditation In A Chapel Filled With Music Will Rid You Of Your Blues Better Than The Humble Task Of Making Your Own Bread.