Success Is Less Interesting Than Struggle. There

[mark Twain] Is Still The Rough, Awkward, Good-natured Boy Who Swore At The Deck Hands When He Was Three Years Old. Thoroughly Likeable As A Good Fellow, But Impossible As A Man Of Letters.

The Trouble Is You Almost Have To Marry A Man Before You Can Find Out The Sort Of Wife He Needs; And Usually It's Exactly The Sort You Are Not.

I Ain't Got Time To Learn. I Can Work Like Mans Now.

Most Publishers, Like Most Writers, Are Ruined By Their Successes.

There Is A Popular Superstition That "realism" Asserts Itself In The Cataloguing Of A Great Number Of Material Objects, In Explaining Mechanical Processes, The Methods Of Operating Manufactories And Trades, And In Minutely And Unsparingly Describing Physical Sensations. But Is Not Realism, More Than It Is Anything Else, An Attitude Of Mind On The Part Of The Writer Toward His Material, A Vague Indication Of The Sympathy And Candour With Which He Accepts, Rather Than Chooses, His Theme?