Occupation: Novelist Birth: September 13, 1876 Death: March 8, 1941
I am a lover and have not found my thing to love..
I go about looking at horses and cattle. They eat grass, make love, work when they have to, bear their young. I am sick with envy of them..
The thing of course, is to make yourself alive. Most people remain all of their lives in a stupor..
It may be life is only worthwhile at moments. Perhaps that is all we ought to expect..