To travel is to discover that everybody is wrong. The philosophies, the civilizations which seem, at a distance, so superior to those current at home, all prove on a close inspection to be in their own way just as hopelessly imperfect.

Happiness is not achieved by the conscious pursuit of happiness; it is generally the by-product of other activities.

The poet's place, it seems to me, is with the Mr. Hydes of human nature.

Good is that which makes for unity. Evil is that which makes for separateness.

To write fiction, one needs a whole series of inspirations about people in an actual environment, and then a whole lot of work on the basis of those inspirations.

Since Mozart's day composers have learned the art of making music throatily and palpitatingly sexual.

What a gulf between impression and expression! That’s our ironic fate—to have Shakespearean feelings and (unless by some billion-to-one chance we happen to be Shakespeare) to talk about them like automobile salesmen or teen-agers or college professors. We practice alchemy in reverse—touch gold and it turns into lead; touch the pure lyrics of experience, and they turn into the verbal equivalents of tripe and hogwash.