The Hand That Controls The

We Used To Have A Dog Named Snoopy, You Know, A Real Live Dog. I Suppose People Who Love Snoopy Won't Like It, But We Gave Him Away. He Fought With Other Dogs, So We Traded Him In For A Load Of Gravel.

When They [visitors To His Studio:] Learn About The Six-week Daily-strip Deadline And The 12-week Sunday-page Deadline, A Visitor Almost Never Fails To Remark: "gee, You Could Work Real Hard, Couldn't You, And Get Several Months Ahead And Then Take The Time Off?" Being, As I Said, A Slow Learner, It Took Me Until Last Year To Realize What An Odd Statement That Really Is. You Don't Work All Of Your Life To Do Something So You Don't Have To Do It.

I Am Not Concerned With Simply Surviving. I Am Very Concerned About Improving. I Start Each Day By Examining Yesterday's Work And Looking For Areas Where I Can Improve. I Am Always Trying To Draw The Characters Better, And Trying To Design Each Panel Somewhat In The Manner A Painter Would Treat His Canvas.

I Know The Answer! The Answer Lies Within The Heart Of All Mankind! The Answer Is Twelve? I Think I'm In The Wrong Building.

Sometimes I Lie Awake At Night And Think About That Little Red-haired Girl... I Don't Ever Want To Forget Her Face, But If I Don't Forget Her Face, I'll Go Crazy... How Can I Remember The Face I Can't Forget? Suddenly I'm Writing Country Western Music!