Love grows more tremendously full, swift, poignant, as the years multiply.
From Zane Grey
What is writing but an expression of my own life?
No one connected intimately with a writer has any appreciation of his temperament, except to think him overdoing everything.
I see so much more than I used to see. The effect has been to depress and sadden and hurt me terribly.
I arise full of eagerness and energy, knowing well what achievement lies ahead of me.
I can write best in the silence and solitude of the night, when everyone has retired.
Love of man for woman - love of woman for man. That's the nature, the meaning, the best of life itself.
I am tired. My arm aches. My head boils. My feet are cold. But I am not aware of any weakness.
This motion-picture muddle had distracted me from my writing.
Every once in a while I feel the tremendous force of the novel. But it does not stay with me.
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