The World Knew You Before You Knew

How We Spend Our Days Is, Of Course, How We Spend Our Lives.

There Were No Formerly Heroic Times, And There Was No Formerly Pure Generation. There Is No One Here But Us Chickens, And So It Has Always Been.

On Plenty Of Days The Writer Can Write Three Or Four Pages, And On Plenty Of Other Days He Concludes He Must Throw Them Away.

You Do What You Do Out Of Your Private Love Of The Thing Itself.

I Worked So Hard All My Life, And All I Want To Do Now Is Read.