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21 was the formed thought of someone who had been steeped in chaos, but it would be genuine and real. I have had two summers of travel, and a year of real work. The first [[strikethrough]] one [[/strikethrough]] ^[[year]] in which I have accomplished anything. I have very little to show for it, but the time has come positively where not a month must pass without my having something to show. I must create now. The language, faltering it is true, is known a little, so that I can express myself. I am old, if I do not start to speak now I never will. This is to be [[strikethrough]] the [[/strikethrough]] ^[[my]] winter. I have enough started to tide over the times when inspiration will not come and the Spring [[strikethrough]] cannot come [[/strikethrough]] ^[[must not arrive]] till I have something [[strikethrough]] done [[/strikethrough]] ^[[done]] which I can show. Besides the two [[strikethrough]] works [[/strikethrough]] ^[[sketches]] which I must finish I must bring forth many ideas in the form of ^[[enough]] sketches. At least 2 a month. They must cover many subjects, many thoughts foreign to my nature (that gives breadth) and also these deep things which I know to be true because I have lain in the dust and acquired them. They are bits of me now to be pulled away with strong unkind hands.