Good Dialogue Is Not Real

He No Longer Dreamed Of Storms, Nor Of Women, Nor Of Great Occurrences, Nor Of Great Fish, Nor Fights, Nor Contests Of Strength, Nor Of His Wife. He Only Dreamed Of Places Now And The Lions On The Beach. They Played Like Young Cats In The Dusk And He Loved Them As He Loved The Boy. He Never Dreamed About The Boy. He Simply Woke, Looked Out The Open Door At The Moon And Unrolled His Trousers And Put Them On.

You Know I Don't Love Any One But You. You Shouldn't Mind Because Some One Else Loved Me.

No, That Is The Great Fallacy: The Wisdom Of Old Men. They Do Not Grow Wise. They Grow Careful.

After Writing A Story I Was Always Empty And Both Sad And Happy, As Though I Had Made Love.

There Can Be No Great Literature In America Until Her Writers Have Learned To Trust Her Implicitly And Love Her Devoutly.