Before exulatation had vanished, I felt as if I had been granted a marvellous privilege. Out of the inscrutable waters a beautiful fish had somehow leaped to show me fleetingly the life and spirit of his element.

Every once in a while I feel the tremendous force of the novel. But it does not stay with me.

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

Men may rise on stepping stones of their dead selves to higher things.

The difficulty, the ordeal, is to start.

I need this wild life, this freedom.

The Indian story has never been written. Maybe I am the man to do it.