O God, Let Me Write

After A Day Of Rain The Sun Came Out Suddenly At Five O'clock And Threw A Golden Bar Into The Deep Victorian Gloom Of The Front Parlour

Violence Commands Both Literature And Life, And Violence Is Always Crude And Distorted.

No One In The Modern World Is More Lonely Than The Writer With A Literary Conscience.

You Can't Fit The Same Religion To Every Man Any Mo' Than You Can The Same Pair Of Breeches. The Big Man Takes The Big Breeches An' The Little Man Takes The Small Ones, An' It's Jest The Same With Religion. It May Be Cut After One Pattern, But It's Might Apt To Get Its Shape From The Wearer Inside. Why, Thar Ain't Any Text So Peaceable That It Ain't Drawn Blood From Somebody.

Happiness Is A Hardy Annual.