don't stop to think of the words when you do stop, just stop to think of the picture better-and let your mind off yourself in this work.

Details are the Life of Prose.

Believe that the world is an ethereal flower, and ye live.

It ain't whatcha write, it's the way atcha write it.

My aunt once said that the world would never find peace until men fell at their women's feet and asked for forgiveness.

It seemed like a matter of minutes when we began rolling in the foothills before Oakland and suddenly reached a height and saw stretched out ahead of us the fabulous white city of San Francisco on her eleven mystic hills with the blue Pacific and its advancing wall of potato-patch fog beyond, and smoke and goldenness in the late afternoon of time.

Dean and I both swayed to the rhythm and the IT of our final excited joy in talking and living to the blank traced end of all innumerable riotous angelic particulars that had been lurking in our souls all our lives.