The eighteen years he has lived seem but a moment, a breathing space in the long march of … - Sherwood Anderson

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Yes, he’s a good boy. Never been in trouble at school and he’s on the honor roll. Captain of the football team. All-around psycho serial killer who hides bodies in the fridge whenever his parents go out of town. (Nick) I also eat babies for breakfast and torture small animals for fun. My therapist says I’m making real progress though. (Caleb)

Sherwood Anderson

The eighteen years he has lived seem but a moment, a breathing space in the long march of humanity. Already he hears death calling. With all his heart he wants to come close to some other human, touch someone with his hands, be touched by the hand of another.

Hands, Hears, Heart, Moment, Space, Touch

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The object of art is not to make salable pictures. It is to save yourself.

Art, Art Is, Make, Pictures, Save, Save Yourself

I think the whole glory of writing lies in the fact that it forces us out of ourselves and into the lives of others.

Forces, Lies, Lying, Thinking, Whole, Writing

The lives of people are like young trees in a forest. They are being choked by climbing vines. The vines are old thoughts and beliefs planted by dead men.

Climbing, Life, Like, Men, People

The life of reality is confused, disorderly, almost always without apparent purpose, whereas in the artist's imaginative life there is purpose. There is determination to give the tale, the song, the painting, form -- to make it true and real to the theme, not to life.

Art, Determination, Disorderly, Give, Song, True

If I can write everything out plainly, perhaps I will myself understand better what has happened.

Happened, Ifs, Perhaps, Plainly, Writing