I wonder what Adam and Eve think of it by this time.
Not till the poets among us can be "literalists of the imagination"-above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, "imaginary gardens with real toads in them." shall we have it.
If technique is of no interest to a writer, I doubt that the writer is an artist.
Honesty - however dangerous - should be as valuable as radium it seems to me.
Revision is its own reward.
We are suffering from too much sarcasm.