It is a delicious thing to write, to be no longer yourself but to move in an entire universe of your own creating. Today, for instance, as man and woman, both lover and mistress, I rode in a forest on autumn afternoon under the yellow leaves, and I was also the horses, the leaves, the wind, the words my people uttered, even the red sun that made them almost close their love-drowned eyes. When I brood over these marvelous pleasures I have enjoyed, I would be tempted to offer God a prayer of thanks if I knew he could hear me. Praised may he be for not creating me a cotton merchant, a vaudevillian, or a wit.

Summary

In this quote, the speaker expresses the joy and fulfillment they find in the act of writing. They describe how writing allows them to transcend themselves and immerse into an extraordinary world of their own creation. The speaker vividly recalls a specific moment in which they wrote themselves into a scene of riding through a forest, embodying not only themselves but also the horses, leaves, wind, and even the sun. Reflecting on the incredible pleasure they've experienced through writing, they almost feel grateful to a higher power for not creating them as someone who doesn't possess the same creative outlet and profound experiences.

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