No one connected intimately with a writer has any appreciation of his temperament, except to think him overdoing everything.

If I fished only to capture fish, my fishing trips would have ended long ago.

There are hours when I must force the novel out of my mind and be interested in the children.

I arise full of eagerness and energy, knowing well what achievement lies ahead of me.

The difficulty, the ordeal, is to start.

I can write best in the silence and solitude of the night, when everyone has retired.

I see so much more than I used to see. The effect has been to depress and sadden and hurt me terribly.