I could tell you the moon is made of green cheese and you would agree, because I’ve got dollars, mountains of them
This feeling of the divine startled him
ennobled and purified him
repose of the house wherein Ruth dwelt
odors of stale vegetables and soapsuds
He hated to sleep. There was too much to do, too much of life to live.
“You see,” she said frankly, “writing must be a trade, like anything else. You can’t become a blacksmith without spending three – or five! – years at learning the trade.”
