I Did Not Care What It Was

The Road To Hell Is Paved With Unbought Stuffed Dogs.

Anglers Have A Way Of Romanticizing Their Battles With Fish And Of Forgetting That The Fish Has A Hook In His Mouth, His Gullet, Or His Belly And That His Gameness Is Really An Extreme Of Panic In Which He Runs, Leaps, And Pulls To Get Away Until He Dies. It Would Seem To Be Enough Advantage To The Angler That The Fish Has The Hook In His Mouth Rather Than The Angler.

For A True Writer Each Book Should Be A New Beginning Where He Tries Again For Something That Is Beyond Attainment. He Should Always Try For Something That Has Never Been Done Or That Others Have Tried And Failed. Then Sometimes, With Great Luck, He Will Succeed.

There Is No Rule On How To Write.

It's All Nonsense. It's Only Nonsense. I'm Not Afraid Of The Rain. I Am Not Afraid Of The Rain. Oh, Oh, God, I Wish I Wasn't.