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.
I see so much more than I used to see. The effect has been to depress and sadden and hurt me terribly.
Realism is death to me. I cannot stand life as it is.
Men may rise on stepping stones of their dead selves to higher things.
The Indian story has never been written. Maybe I am the man to do it.
A good rule of angling philosophy is not to interfere with any fishermans ways of being happy, unless you want to be hated.