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"I can't bat out 40 pages of literature every week," he says, "but I can usually turn out a good show. Men like Thurber, say, and E. B. White," he continues slowly, "I can't hope to catch them now. They spent the last 30 years becoming fine artists. I spent them another way. Ever since the job in the library, I've had to think of money first. Well, it doesn't matter any more. I guess I'm doing what I want to do. That's all I've ever done. Through changes in the world — a shrinkage of values—I've become successful. Unless I get sick I can go along this way for a long time. And eventually, I have high hopes, I'll be able to withdraw from the human race."