There are tides in the affairs of men, tides of restlessness and awareness; there are thin threads of thought that reach out across the distance and,… - Louis L'Amour

he who ceases to learn is already a half-dead man.

How much can a man endure? How long could a man continue? These things I asked myself, for I am a questioning man, yet even as I asked the answers were there before me. If he be a man indeed, he must always go on, he must always endure. Death is an end to torture, to struggle, to suffering, but it is also an end to warmth, light, the beauty of a running horse, the smell of damp leaves, of gunpowder, the walk of a woman when she knows someone watches. . . these things, too, are gone.

I really learned how to write from Robert Louis Stevenson, Anthony Trollope, and de Maupassant.