Some sorts of truth are truer than others.
I was jealous; therefore I loved.
You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.
The ghostly winter silence had given way to the great spring murmur of awakening life.
Too much is written by the men who can't write about the men who do write.
And how have I lived? Frankly and openly, though crudely. I have not been afraid of life. I have not shrunk from it. I have taken it for what it was at its own valuation. And I have not been ashamed of it. Just as it was, it was mine.