All my life I've looked at words as though I were seeing them for the first time.

Madame, all stories, if continued far enough, end in death, and he is no true-story teller who would keep that from you.

The brown blotches of the benevolent skin cancer the sun brings from its reflection on the tropic sea were on his cheeks. The blotches ran well down the sides of his face and his hands had the deep-creased scars from handling heavy fish on the cords. But none of these scars were fresh. They were as old as erosions in a fishless desert.

You read what you have written and, as you always stop when you know what is going to happen next, you go on from there. You write until you come to a place where you still have your juice and know what will happen next and you stop and try to live through until the next day when you hit it again.

It's none of their business that you have to learn how to write. Let them think you were born that way.

The thing is to become a master and in your old age to acquire the courage to do what children did when they knew nothing.

Night is always darker before the dawn and life is the same, the hard times will pass, every thing will get better and sun will shine brighter then ever.