All Good Novelists Have Bad

This (vietnam) Was A Land Of Rebellious Barons. It Was Like Europe In The Middle Ages. But What Were The Americans Doing Here? Columbus Had Not Yet Discovered Their Country.

And There, In That Phrase, The Bitterness Leaks Again Out Of My Pen. What A Dull Lifeless Quality This Bitterness Is. If I Could I Would Write With Love, But If I Could Write With Love I Would Be Another Man; I Would Never Have Lost Love.

Despair Is The Price One Pays For Setting Himself An Impossible Aim.

It's A Strange Thing To Discover And To Believe That You Are Loved When You Know That There Is Nothing In You For Anybody But A Parent Or A God To Love.

Eternity Is Said Not To Be An Extension Of Time But An Absence Of Time, And Sometimes It Seemed To Me That Her Abandonment Touched That Strange Mathematical Point Of Endlessness, A Point With No Width, Occupying No Space.