new york provides not only a continuing excitation but also a spectacle that is continuing.

It was the best place to be, thought Wilbur, this warm delicious cellar, with the garrulous geese, the changing seasons, the heat of the sun, the passage of swallows, the nearness of rats, the sameness of sheep, the love of spiders, the smell of manure, and the glory of everything.

No matter what changes take place in the world, or in me, nothing ever seems to disturb the face of spring.

It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer.

Of course, it may be that the arts of writing and photography are antithetical. The hope and aim of a word-handler is that he maycommunicate a thought or an impression to his reader without the reader's realizing that he has been dragged through a series of hazardous or grotesque syntactical situations. In photography the goal seems to be to prove beyond a doubt that the cameraman, in his great moment of creation, was either hanging by his heels from the rafters or was wedged under the floor with his lens in a knothole.

All writing is communication; creative writing is communication through revelation-it is the Self-escaping into the open.

But real life is only one kind of life—there is also the life of the imagination.