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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.