I Love My Work But

These Critics Who Crucify Me Do Not Guess The Littlest Part Of My Sincerity. They Must Be Burned In A Blaze. I Cannot Learn From Them.

Every Once In A While I Feel The Tremendous Force Of The Novel. But It Does Not Stay With Me.

Love Grows More Tremendously Full, Swift, Poignant, As The Years Multiply.

Men May Rise On Stepping Stones Of Their Dead Selves To Higher Things.

I Hope I Have Found Myself, My Work, My Happiness - Under The Light Of The Western Skies.