She can sit up and beg, and she can give her paw — I don't say she will, but she can.

And I'll stay off Verlaine too; he was always chasing Rimbauds.

His books are exciting and powerful and — if I may filch the word from the booksy ones — pulsing.

He is a writer for the ages, the ages of four to eight.

I'd like to have money. And I'd like to be a good writer. These two can come together, and I hope they will, but if that's too adorable, I'd rather have money.

[Completely bored by a country weekend, wiring to a friend:] For heaven's sake, rush me a loaf of bread, enclosing saw and file.

Daily dawns another day; I must up, to make my way. Though I dress and drink and eat, Move my fingers and my feet, Learn a little, here and there, Weep and laugh and sweat and swear, Hear a song, or watch a stage, Leave some words upon a page, Claim a foe, or hail a friend- Bed awaits me at the end.