The Writer Must Hew The

The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter With Only One Desire! To Find Some Lasting Comfort In The Arms Of Anothers Fire...driven By A Desperate Hunger To The Arms Of A Neon Light, The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter When There's No Sign Of Love In Sight!

All Men Are Lonely. But Sometimes It Seems To Me That We Americans Are The Loneliest Of All. Our Hunger For Foreign Places And New Ways Has Been With Us Almost Like A National Disease. Our Literature Is Stamped With A Quality Of Longing And Unrest, And Our Writers Have Been Great Wanderers.

She Stood In Front Of The Mirror A Long Time, And Finally Decided She Either Looked Like A Sap Or Else She Looked Very Beautiful. One Or The Other.

A Writer Soon Discovers He Has No Single Identity But Lives The Lives Of All The People He Creates And His Weathers Are Independent Of The Actual Day Around Him. I Live With The People I Create And It Has Always Made My Essential Loneliness Less Keen.

I Think We Look For The Differences In People Because It Makes Us Less Lonely.