It Is Dreadful How I

Tools Have Their Own Integrity.

Days I Enjoy Are Days When Nothing Happens, When I Have No Engagements Written On My Block, When No One Comes To Disturb My Inward Peace, When No One Comes To Take Me Away From Myself And Turn Me Into A Patchwork, A Jig-saw Puzzle, A Broken Mirror That Once Gave A Whole Reflection, Being So Contrived That It Takes Too Long A Time To Get Myself Back To Myself When They Have Gone.

The Writer Catches The Changes Of His Mind On The Hop. Growth Is Exciting; Growth Is Dynamic And Alarming. Growth Of The Soul, Growth Of The Mind.

A Letter, By Its Arrival, Defrauds Us Of A Whole Secret Region Of Our Existence, The Only Region Indeed In Which The True Pleasure Of Life May Be Tasted, The Region Of Imagination, Creative And Protean, The Clouds And Beautiful Shapes Of Whose Heaven Are Destroyed By The Wind Of Reality.

All Craftsmen Share A Knowledge. They Have Heldreality Down Fluttering To A Bench.