After all these years of study, reading, and writing about the great outdoors, I am to come into my own. It looks well.
After six months of strife in the South Seas, I am nearing home, worn out in body, but still unquenchable in spirit.
Always I have had spells of depression.
Every once in a while I feel the tremendous force of the novel. But it does not stay with me.
Florida was, as always, good for my spirit and health.
I am concerned to hear how he runs cars and smashes so many springs, tires, etc.
I am dissatisfied with my efforts toward work thes last two weeks. Steady is not my way.
I am full of fire and passion. I am not ready yet for great concentration and passion.
I am tired. My arm aches. My head boils. My feet are cold. But I am not aware of any weakness.
I am very enthusiastic and hopeful about Z.G. Motion Pictures, Inc. It makes more work for me, which, however, I am satisfied to do.
I am writing my Indian story, the material for which I have been seeking for 10 years and more.
I arise full of eagerness and energy, knowing well what achievement lies ahead of me.
I can write best in the silence and solitude of the night, when everyone has retired.
I confess that reading proofs is a pleasure. It stimulates and inspires me.
I did not have one bad spell during writing - an unprecedented record.
I hate birthdays.
I have fought desperately to conquer my depression and misery.
I have returned from Death Valley. I walked across that ghastly place and back again.
I love my work but do not know how I write it.
I must be prepared to expect depressions and to understand them, and to meet them with intelligence and counteraction.
I must go deeper and even stronger into my treasure mine and stint nothing of time, toil, or torture.
I must look out for nervous strain.
I must look out that I get proper exercise and rest. I have never yet gone my limit, and I am curious to see just what I can do.
I must not hurry, I must not try to do too much in a short time.
I need this wild life, this freedom.
I see so much more than I used to see. The effect has been to depress and sadden and hurt me terribly.
I shall take time with this great book. It grows and grows.
I think I can see $480,000 in the next two years.
I want to test my strength, my power. But I need restraint.
I wasted all day, and as a consequence do not feel well tonight.
I will not let anything hinder my work; that I swear.
I will see this game of life out to its bitter end.
I wrote for nearly six hours. When I stopped, the dark mood, as if by magic, had folded its cloak and gone away.
It is so difficult to make these business decisions. I do not know what is good, or what is wrong.
It was a decent New Year's, but it took a million officers to make it so.
It was a strange, garish, colorful moving picture. People have gone crazy over eating, drinking, dancing.
Love grows more tremendously full, swift, poignant, as the years multiply.
Love of man for woman - love of woman for man. That's the nature, the meaning, the best of life itself.
Men may rise on stepping stones of their dead selves to higher things.
Most Californians have the speed mania. I will absolutely forbid him to run a car in LA over 24 miles an hour.
My consciousness was such that I cannot now recall the thoughts I had, the prayers, the agonies.
My financial ruin appears certain. I am facing the crisis of my life.
My reward and faith in myself come from the many letters I get from simple readers-all with hearts full of romance.
No one connected intimately with a writer has any appreciation of his temperament, except to think him overdoing everything.
Outcast am I, thrown from my father's house hard upon the world, after an idle, luxurious, improvident youth.
Please be selfish. Do something terribly human so that I can hold up my head.
The difficulty, the ordeal, is to start.
The driver of my car ran over a little Japanese baby girl and killed her. I was sick, horrified, furious. Today she was buried.
The Indian story has never been written. Maybe I am the man to do it.
The task I have set for myself is tremendous.
There are hours when I must force the novel out of my mind and be interested in the children.
There is a bigness, a glory about the approach to the Wasteland Wanderer novel.
These critics who crucify me do not guess the littlest part of my sincerity. They must be burned in a blaze. I cannot learn from them.
This motion-picture muddle had distracted me from my writing.
Today I began the novel that I determined to be great.
We travel with the Mormons for 180 miles. I'll get to study them. If they aren't a tough bunch I never saw one. They all pack guns.
Went to Los Angeles for several days to write the titles for motion pictures. Lost five days from my novel and tired myself in the bargain.
What is writing but an expression of my own life?
What makes life worth living? Better surely, to yield to the stain of suicide blood in me and seek forgetfulness in the embrace of cold dark death.
Where do I find these romances? I see these romances, and I believe them.
Work is my salvation. It changes my moods.
Writing was like digging coal. I sweat blood. The spell is on me.
You seem to have broken through the reserve of the New York bunch who scratch each other's backs.
You spent the summer with Zane Grey? I don't remember ever seeing you before. I happen to be Zane Grey.
Grey moved his family west to California after the success of his novel Heritage of the Desert.
Grey's favorite horse was named Juan Carlos.
Grey kept a string of mistresses throughout the course of his life but his wife was tolerant of this constant womanizing.
Zane Grey Terrace, a street in Altadena, CA, is named in his honor.
Grey spent his latter years residing in Altadena, CA.
Grey is buried in Union Cemetary in Lockawaxen, PA, where he resided for many years before moving to California.
Grey owned hunting and fishing cabins in Arizona and Oregon.
Grey's first best seller was Heritage of the Desert, published in 1910.
Grey nicknamed his wife "Dolly."
Grey played semi-pro baseball with a team in Wheeling, WV for a time after leaving college.
Grey graduated from the University of Pennsylvania in 1896.
Grey attended the University of Pennsylvania on a baseball scholarship where he studied dentistry.
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