Henry Colbert, The Miller, Always

Nothing Mattered ... But Writing Books, And Living The Kind Of Life That Made It Possible To Write Them.

Sometimes," I Ventured, "it Doesn't Occur To Boys That Their Mother Was Ever Young And Pretty. . . I Couldn't Stand It If You Boys Were Inconsiderate, Or Thought Of Her As If She Were Just Somebody Who Looked After You. You See I Was Very Much In Love With Your Mother Once, And I Know There's Nobody Like Her.

People Live Through Such Pain Only Once. Pain Comes Again—but It Finds A Tougher Surface.

The Pale, Cold Light Of The Winter Sunset Did Not Beautify - It Was Like The Light Of Truth Itself.

Sometimes I Wonder Why God Ever Trusts Talent In The Hands Of Women, They Usually Make Such An Infernal Mess Of It. I Think He Must Do It As A Sort Of Ghastly Joke.