To Hell With Luck. I'll

If A Writer Stops Observing He Is Finished. But He Does Not Have To Observe Consciously Nor Think How It Will Be Useful. Perhaps That Would Be True At The Beginning. But Later Everything He Sees Goes Into The Great Reserve Of Things He Knows Or Has Seen.

Wearing Down Seven Number Two Pencils Is A Good Day's Work.

The Hardest Thing To Do Is To Write Straight Honest Prose On Human Beings. First You Have To Know The Subject; Then You Have To Know How To Write. Both Take A Lifetime To Learn, And Anybody Is Cheating Who Takes Politics As A Way Out. All The Outs Are Too Easy, And The Thing Itself Is Too Hard To Do.

I'm Tired Of Everybody. Please Forgive Me.

To Me Heaven Would Be A Big Bull Ring With Me Holding Two Barrera Seats And A Trout Stream Outside That No One Else Was Allowed To Fish In And Two Lovely Houses In The Town; One Where I Would Have My Wife And Children And Be Monogamous And Love Them Truly And Well And The Other Where I Would Have My Nine Beautiful Mistresses On Nine Different Floors.