One would think a writer would be happy here -- if a writer is every happy anywhere.

Singing has always seemed to me the most perfect means of expression. It is so spontaneous. And after singing, I think the violin. Since I cannot sing, I paint.

I&#39;m quite obviously not the world&#39;s most handsome man - I&#39;m the second world&#39;s most handsome man!

They reminded him of something—what was it?—some memory, some picture. He strove to find it and then it came of itself.  It rose out of the years complete with all its colours and its cries, its crowded feelings.

Written By John Steinbeck

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