The Late Evening Is The Time Of

To Work - To Work! It Is Such Infinite Delight To Know That We Still Have The Best Things To Do.

As In The Physical World, So In The Spiritual World, Pain Does Not Last Forever.

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

In The Shortest Sea Voyage There Is No Sense Of Time. You Have Been Down In The Cabin For Hours Or Days Or Years. Nobody Knows Or Cares. You Know All The People To The Point Of Indifference. You Do Not Believe In Dry Land Any More - You Are Caught In The Pendulum Itself, And Left There, Idly Swinging.

I Want So To Live That I Work With My Hands And My Feeling And My Brain. I Want A Garden, A Small House, Grass, Animals, Books, Pictures, Music. And Out Of This, The Expression Of This, I Want To Be Writing (though I May Write About Cabmen. That’s No Matter.) But Warm, Eager, Living Life — To Be Rooted In Life — To Learn, To Desire, To Feel, To Think, To Act. This Is What I Want. And Nothing Less. That Is What I Must Try For.