To Drink For Pleasure May Be A

As Far Back As I Remember, Long Before I Could Write, I Had Played At Making Stories. But Not Until I Was Seven Or More, Did I Begin To Pray Every Night, "o God, Let Me Write Books! Please, God, Let Me Write Books!"

What Was Time Itself But The Bloom, The Sheath Enfolding Experience? Within Time, And With Time Alone, There Was Life - The Gleam, The Quiver, The Heartbeat, The Immeasurable Joy And Anguish Of Being.

Cruelty Is The Only Sin.

What I Hated Even More Than The Conflict Was The Lurid Spectacle Of A World Of Unreason.

Experience Has Taught Me That The Only Cruelties People Condemn Are Those With Which They Do Not Happen To Be Familiar.