My Books

I never make them: they grow; they come to me and insist on being written, and on being such and such.  I did not want to write Erewhon, I wanted to go on painting and found it an abominable nuisance being dragged willy-nilly into writing it.  So with all my books—the subjects were never of my own choosing; they pressed themselves upon me with more force than I could resist.  If I had not liked the subjects I should have kicked, and nothing would have got me to do them at all.  As I did like the subjects and the books came and said they were to be written, I grumbled a little and wrote them. [106]