Writing was like digging coal. I sweat blood. The spell is on me.

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

I will see this game of life out to its bitter end

Where I was raised a woman's word was law. I ain't quite outgrowed that yet.

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

Jealously was an unjust and stifling thing.

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