I Knew I Wanted To Be A

Sometimes You Got To Hurt Something To Help Something. Sometimes You Have To Plow Under One Thing In Order For Something Else To Grow.

But Let Us Say He Was (guilty). Let Us For A Moment Say He Was (guilty). What Justice Would There Be To Take His Life? Justice, Gentlemen? Why, I Would Just As Soon Put A Hog In The Electric Chair As This.

The Six Golden Rules Of Writing: Read, Read, Read, And Write, Write, Write.

I Still Don't Even Know If The Sheriff Will Let Me See Him. And Suppose He Did; What Then? What Do I Say To Him? Do I Know What A Man Is? Do I Know How A Man Is Supposed To Die? I'm Still Trying To Find Out How A Man Should Live. Am I Supposed To Tell Someone How To Die Who Has Never Lived?

Everything's Been Said, But It Needs Saying Again.