The Indian story has never been written. Maybe I am the man to do it.
There was never an angler who lived but that there was a fish capable of taking the conceit out of him.
Men may rise on stepping stones of their dead selves to higher things.
These critics who crucify me do not guess the littlest part of my sincerity. They must be burned in a blaze. I cannot learn from them.
The difficulty, the ordeal, is to start.
This motion-picture muddle had distracted me from my writing.