My heart is broken. It’s turned to a piece of stone. I’m no good. That’s what’s as bad as anything, that I’m no good anymore.
Art is made to seem effortless, but it takes some work.
I didn't know if they could help me or not. Part of me wanted help. But there was another part.
Something’s died in me. It took a long time for it to do it, but it’s dead. You’ve killed something, just like you’d took an axe to it. Everything is dirt now.
You have to eat and keep going. Eating is a small, good thing in a time like this.
They nodded when the baker began to speak of loneliness, and of the sense of doubt and limitation that had come to him in the middle years.
When you open my letter you will recall those days and how much, just how much, I love you.
Every great or even very good writer makes the world over according to his own specifications ... It is his world and no other.