But most important of all, the truth, that dangerous stuff, became beautiful and more precious.
Saints can spring from any soil.
Time is the only critic without ambition.
All war is a symptom of man's failure as a thinking animal.
A stilted heron labored up into the air and pounded down the river.
Writing to me is a deeply personal, even a secret function and when the product I turned loose it is cut off from me and I have no sense of its being mine. Consequently criticism doesn't mean anything to me. As a disciplinary matter, it is too late.