You Won’t Arrive. It Is An Endless

If You Are To Become A Writer You'll Have To Stop Fooling With Words.

The Lives Of People Are Like Young Trees In A Forest. They Are Being Choked By Climbing Vines. The Vines Are Old Thoughts And Beliefs Planted By Dead Men.

There Is This Thing Called Life. We Live It, Not As We Intend Or Wish, But As We Are Driven On By Forces Outside And Inside Ourselves.

The Whole Object Of Education Is...to Develop The Mind. The Mind Should Be A Thing That Works.

My Father, A Ruined Dandy From The South, Had Been Reduced To Keeping A Small Harness-repair Shop And, When That Failed, He Became Ostensibly A House-and-barn Painter. However, He Did Not Call Himself A House-painter. The Idea Was Not Flashy Enough For Him. He Called Himself A "sign-writer.