Writing was like digging coal. I sweat blood. The spell is on me.
Fishermen, no matter what supreme good fortune befalls them, cannot ever be absolutely satisfied. It is a fundamental weakness of intellect.
There was never an angler who lived but that there was a fish capable of taking the conceit out of him.
I hope I have found myself, my work, my happiness - under the light of the western skies.
Today I began the novel that I determined to be great.
Men may rise on stepping stones of their dead selves to higher things.