I Had Seen Birth And Death But

What Have We Given? My Friend, Blood Shaking My Heart The Awful Daring Of A Moment's Surrender Which An Age Of Prudence Can Never Retract By This, And This Only, We Have Existed.

The Purpose Of Literature Is To Turn Blood Into Ink.

Sister, Mother And Spirit Of The River, Spirit Of The Sea, Suffer Me Not To Be Separated And Let My Cry Come Unto Thee.

The Last Thing One Discovers In Composing A Work Is What To Put First.

Old Men Ought To Be Explorers.