We were all imitative. We all wandered in after Miss Edna St. Vincent Millay. We were all being dashing and gallant, declaring we weren't virgins, whether we were or not.

For a few minutes, everything is so cute that the mind reels.... And then, believe it or not, things get worse. So I shot myself.

[On Edna Ferber's Ice Palace] ... the book, which is going to be a movie, has the plot and characters of a book which is going to be a movie.

Writing well is the best revenge.

Art is a form of catharsis emotional release, purging, cleansing, purifying.

His books are exciting and powerful and — if I may filch the word from the booksy ones — pulsing.

[Requesting her epitaph to read this way:] Excuse my dust.