You've Such A Lovely Temperature.

I Hate A Cramp, He Thought. It Is A Treachery Of One's Own Body.

If The Wind Rises It Can Push Us Against The Flood When It Comes.

Only That Which Makes You Feel Bad After Doing Is Immoral.

When I Am Working On A Book Or A Story I Write Every Morning As Soon After First Light As Possible. There Is No One To Disturb You And It Is Cool Or Cold And You Come To Your Work And Warm As You Write. . . .when You Stop You Are As Empty, And At The Same Time Never Empty But Filling, As When You Have E Made Love To Someone You Love. Nothing Can Hurt You, Nothing Can Happen, Nothing Means Anything Until The Next Day When You Do It Again. It Is The Wait Until The Next Day That Is Hard To Get Through.

Writing Is A Hard Business...but Nothing Makes You Feel Better.