The inmost significance of the exaggerated value which is set upon hard work appears to be this: man seems to mistrust everything that is effortless; he can only enjoy, with a good conscience, what he has acquired with toil and trouble; he refused to have anything as a gift.
We, and I think I'm speaking for many writers, don't know what it is that sometimes comes to make our books alive. All we can do is write dutifully and day after day, every day, giving our work the very best of what we are capable. I don't that we can consciously put the magic in; it doesn't work that way. When the magic comes, it's a gift.
One true king knew when to step aside and give up the reins of power - to remove his crown and relinquish his kingdom - all for the sake of glimpsing, just once in a lifetime, the face of a holy child.
He was the Fourth to follow the Star.
His gift was a secret.
The rest of his journey is unknown.
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