Your Mind Outwears All Sorts Of Things

Death Is Loneliness In Its Purest Form.

A Novel Is Really Like A Symphony Where Instrument After Instrument Has To Come In At Its Own Time, And No Other.

There Seems To Be A Kind Of Order In The Universe…in The Movement Of The Stars And The Turning Of The Earth And The Changing Of The Seasons. But Human Life Is Almost Pure Chaos. Everyone Takes His Stance, Asserts His Own Right And Feelings, Mistaking The Motives Of Others, And His Own.

Art Is A Vocation, As Much As Anything In This World. For The Real Artist, It Is The Most Natural Thing In The World, Not As Necessary As Air And Water, Perhaps, But As Food And Water. But We Really Do Lead Almost A Monastic Life, You Know; To Follow It You Very Often Have To Give Up Something.

There Have Been Many Times When I Have Been So Entirely Sickened Of Life It Was Very Hard To Work To Keep On, A Half Dozen Times I Have Been Tempted To Suicide, But I Am Glad I Did Not Give Way, For I Have Always Felt That The Last Half Of My Life Would Somehow Atone For The First Half, And I Still Think It May ... It Is Not Possible To Live In This World Without Suffering Unless One Is A Born Stone. But It Is Also Possible To Have A Great Deal Of Happiness In Spite Of The Suffering.