A young and vital child knows no limit to his own will, and it is the only reality to him. It is not that he wants at the outset to fight other wills, but that they simply do not exist for him. Like the artist, he goes forth to the work of creation, gloriously alone.
“There is no less invention in aptly applying a thought found in a book, than in being the first author of the thought.”
“I write for what's left of the eight-year-old still rattling around inside my head.”