Greed, like the love of comfort, is a kind of fear.

Doing is overrated, and success undesirable, but the bitterness of failure even more so.

The secret of success is to be in harmony with existence, to be always calm to let each wave of life wash us a little farther up the shore.

Like water, we are truest to our nature in repose.

A writer is in danger of allowing his talent to dull who lets more than a year go past without finding himself in his rightful place of composition, the small single unluxurious retreat of the twentieth century, the hotel bedroom.

The shock, for an intelligent writer, of discovering for the first time that there are people younger than himself who think him stupid is severe.

We create the world in which we live; if that world becomes unfit for human life, it is because we tire of our responsibility.