Novel writing is far and away the most exhausting work I know.

A whim, a passing mood, readily induces the novelist to move hearth and home elsewhere. He can always plead work as an excuse to get him out of the clutches of bothersome hosts.

A man who writes for a living does not have to go anywhere in particular, and he could rarely afford to if he wanted.

There is no other way of writing a novel than to begin at the beginning at to continue to the end.

Novel writing is far and away the most exhausting work I know.

The lucky man is he who knows how much to leave to chance.

Novel writing wrecks homes.