The Lucky Man Is He

Novel Writing Wrecks Homes.

I Thank God Daily For The Good Fortune Of My Birth, For I Am Certain I Would Have Made A Miserable Peasant.

Perhaps That Suspicion Of Fraud Enhances The Flavor.

Novel Writing Is Far And Away The Most Exhausting Work I Know.

A Whim, A Passing Mood, Readily Induces The Novelist To Move Hearth And Home Elsewhere. He Can Always Plead Work As An Excuse To Get Him Out Of The Clutches Of Bothersome Hosts.