If art has a purpose, it is to interpret life, reproduce it in fresh visions.

Artists often think they are going to die before their time. They seem to possess a heightened sense of the passing of the hours.

There is a marvelous turn and trick to British arrogance; its apparent unconsciousness makes it twice as effectual.

For your born writer, nothing is so healing as the realization that he has come upon the right word.

I have noted that, barring accidents, artists whose powers wear best and last longest are those who have trained themselves to work under adversity. Great artists treasure their time with a bitter and snarling miserliness.

What the writer needs is an empty day ahead.

Writing is not apart from living. Writing is a kind of double living.