Quote

Adam Larey gazed with hard and wondering eyes down the silent current of the red river upon which he meant to drift away into the desert

Zane Grey

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Zane Grey
Age: 67 †
Born: 1872
Born: January 31
Died: 1939
Died: October 23
Author
Baseball Player
Dentist
Film Producer
Novelist
Poet
Screenwriter
Writer
Zanesville
Ohio
Meant
Wondering
Silent
Adam
Wonder
River
Eyes
Current
Upon
Currents
Eye
Desert
Away
Red
Gazed
Hard
Rivers
Drift

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If I fished only to capture fish, my fishing trips would have ended long ago.
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I am tired. My arm aches. My head boils. My feet are cold. But I am not aware of any weakness.
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I must go deeper and even stronger into my treasure mine and stint nothing of time, toil, or torture.
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A good rule of angling philosophy is not to interfere with any fishermans ways of being happy, unless you want to be hated.
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Today I began the novel that I determined to be great.
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There was never an angler who lived but that there was a fish capable of taking the conceit out of him.
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Jealously was an unjust and stifling thing.
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Love of man for woman--love of woman for man. That's the nature, the meaning, the best of life itself.
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Writing was like digging coal. I sweat blood. The spell is on me.
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Fishermen, no matter what supreme good fortune befalls them, cannot ever be absolutely satisfied. It is a fundamental weakness of intellect.
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There are hours when I must force the novel out of my mind and be interested in the children.
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Fishing is a condition of mind wherein you cannot possibly have a bad time.
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Where I was raised a woman's word was law. I ain't quite outgrowed that yet.
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I need this wild life, this freedom.
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What is writing but an expression of my own life?
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These critics who crucify me do not guess the littlest part of my sincerity. They must be burned in a blaze. I cannot learn from them.
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I love my work but do not know how I write it.
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I can write best in the silence and solitude of the night, when everyone has retired.
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Before exulatation had vanished, I felt as if I had been granted a marvellous privilege. Out of the inscrutable waters a beautiful fish had somehow leaped to show me fleetingly the life and spirit of his element.
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What makes life worth living? Better surely, to yield to the stain of suicide blood in me and seek forgetfulness in the embrace of cold dark death.
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