A good [short story] would take me out of myself and then stuff me back in, outsized, now, and uneasy with the fit.
But I'm a humorist. I'm not a reporter, I never pretended to be a reporter.
It make one's mouth hurt to speak with such forced merriment.
...clatter of a typwriter suggests that you're actually building something.
As bad a dresser as I am, anything beats being judged by my character.
There are certain people in my life who didn't care to be in my book. And so I cut them out. And I had broken up with somebody. And I was, you know, really upset and depressed. And so that was, you know, reasons to keep going.