He Thought About Himself And

Many People Must Live And Die Alone, Even In Winesburg.

There Is Within Every Human Being A Deep Well Of Thinking Over Which A Heavy Iron Lid Is Kept Clamped.

It Is Apparent That Nations Cannot Exist For Us. They Are The Playthings Of Children, Such Toys As Children Break From Boredom And Weariness. The Branch Of A Tree Is My Country. My Freedom Sleeps In A Mulberry Bush. My Country Is In The Shivering Legs Of A Little Lost Dog.

If I Can Write Everything Out Plainly, Perhaps I Will Myself Understand Better What Has Happened.

The Disease We All Have And That We Have To Fight Against All Our Lives Is ... The Disease Of Self.