One writes because one has a burning desire to objectify what it is indispensable to one's happiness to express.
The mind is an enchanting thing.
Yule—Yul log for the Christmas-fire tale-spinner—of fairy tales that can come true: Yul Brynner.
Poetry, that is to say the poetic, is a primal necessity.
A man is a writer if all his words are strung in definite sentence sounds.
The prey of fear, he, always curtailed, extinguished, thwarted by the dusk, work partly done, says to the alternating blaze, "Again the sun! anew each day; and new and new and new, that comes into and steadies my soul."