In utter loneliness, a writer explains the inexplicable.

Time is the only critic without ambition.

The discipline of the written word punishes both stupidity and dishonesty.

We spend our time searching for security and hate it when we get it.

You know how advice is. You only want it if it agrees with what you wanted to do anyway.

Many a trip continues long after movement in time and space have ceased.

Ideas are like rabbits. You get a couple and learn how to handle them, and pretty soon you have a dozen.

I am impelled, not to squeak like a grateful and apologetic mouse, but to roar like a lion out of pride in my profession.

One can find so many pains when the rain is falling.