How Little We Know Of

In Those Days, There Was No Money To Buy Books.

We Would Be Together And Have Our Books And At Night Be Warm In Bed Together With The Windows Open And The Stars Bright.

There Is Nothing To Writing. All You Do Is Sit Down At A Typewriter And Bleed.

Every Man's Life Ends The Same Way. It Is Only The Details Of How He Lived And How He Died That Distinguish One Man From Another.

There Is No Rule On How To Write.