All my life I have been trying to learn to read, to see and hear, and to write.

The drum in a dream pounds loud to the dreamer.

I can remember only a few of the strange and curious words now dead but living and spoken by the English people a thousand years ago.

I decided I would go to Chicago and try my luck as a writer after those eight months as a fireman.

There have been as many varieties of socialists as there are wild birds that fly in the woods and sometimes go up and on through the clouds.

I knew I would read all kinds of books and try to get at what it is that makes good writers good. But I made no promises that I would write books a lot of people would like to read.

My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive in the universe.