It's Always Our Touches Of

If We Could Wake Each Morning With No Memory Of Living Before We Went To Sleep, We Might Arrive At A Faultless Day.

The Dark Is Light Enough.

How Nature Loves The Incomplete. She Knows If She Drew A Conclusion It Would Finish Her.

An Artist's Sensitivity To Criticism Is, At Least In Part, An Effort To Keep Unimpaired The Zest, Or Confidence, Or Arrogance, Which He Needs To Make Creation Possible; Or An Instinct To Climb Through His Problems In His Own Way As He Should, And Must.

My Trouble Is I'm The Sort Of Writer Who Only Finds Out What He's Getting At By The Time He's Got To The End Of It.