They say geniuses mostly have great mothers. They mostly have sad fates.

I like to write when I feel spiteful; it's like having a good sneeze.

Once you abstract from this, once you generalize and postulate Universals, you have departed from the creative reality, and entered the realm of static fixity, mechanism, materialism.

Most fatal, most hateful of all things is bullying.... Sensual bullying of course is fairly easily detected. What is more dangerous is ideal bullying. Bullying people into what is ideally good for them.

Nobody can have the soul of me. My mother has had, and nobody can have it again. Nobody can come into my very self again, and breathe me like an atmosphere.

Sentimentalism is the working off on yourself of feelings you haven't really got.

Any novel of importance has a purpose. If only the "purpose" be large enough, and not at outs with the passional inspiration.