There are hours when I must force the novel out of my mind and be interested in the children.
I am full of fire and passion. I am not ready yet for great concentration and passion.
This motion-picture muddle had distracted me from my writing.
I am tired. My arm aches. My head boils. My feet are cold. But I am not aware of any weakness.
The difficulty, the ordeal, is to start.
Men may rise on stepping stones of their dead selves to higher things.