Victor Hugo

THE MORNING OF LIFE.

     ("Le voile du matin.")

     { April, 1822.}

     The mist of the morning is torn by the peaks,

       Old towers gleam white in the ray,

     And already the glory so joyously seeks

       The lark that's saluting the day.

     Then smile away, man, at the heavens so fair,

       Though, were you swept hence in the night,

     From your dark, lonely tomb the owlets would stare

       At the sun rising newly as bright.

     But out of earth's trammels your soul would have flown

       Where glitters Eternity's stream,

     And you shall have waked 'midst pure glories unknown,

       As sunshine disperses a dream.

WRITE HARD

WRITE HARD AND CLEAR ABOUT WHAT HURTS. - Ernest Hemingway

John Steinbeck: The dog ate my. Script

John Steinbeck’s dog, Toby, ate his manuscript of  “Of Mice and Men.”

There was no other draft.

 Steinbeck said of the incident, “I was pretty mad, but the poor little fellow may have been acting critically. I didn’t want to ruin a good dog for a manuscript, I’m not sure is good at all.”

WRITING IS

WRITING IS A SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE FORM OF SCHIZOPHRENIA.

- E.L. Doctorow