Horace Greeley sometimes added forcefulness to his editorials,
he violated them deliberately and not in ignorance.
Luminosity is not stumbled into. The richly savored and
deliciously unlettered speech of Thomas Hardy's rustics was
the creation of a master architect who had looked out over
the ranges of fated mankind and looked also into hell.
Thomas Hardy's ashes were placed in Westminster Abbey,
but his heart, in accordance with a provision of his will, was
buried in the churchyard of his own village.

I have never tried to define regionalism. Its blanket has
been put over a great deal of worthless writing. Robert Frost
has approached a satisfying conception. "The land is always
in my bones," he said--the land of rock fences. But, "I am
not a regionalist. I am a realmist. I write about realms of
democracy and realms of the spirit." Those realms include
The Woodpile, The Grindstone, Blueberries, Birches, and
many other features of the land North of Boston.

To an extent, any writer anywhere must make his own
world, no matter whether in fiction or nonfiction, prose or
poetry. He must make something out of his subject. What
he makes depends upon his creative power, integrated with
a sense of form. The popular restriction of creative writing
to fiction and verse is illogical. Carl Sandburg's life of
Lincoln is immeasurably more creative in form and substance
than his fanciful _Potato Face_. Intense exercise of his creative
power sets, in a way, the writer apart from the life he is
trying to sublimate. Becoming a Philistine will not enable a
man to interpret Philistinism, though Philistines who own