I fell into writing, I suppose, being one of those awful children who wrote verses. I went to a convent in New York-the Blessed Sacrament... I was fired from there, finally, for a lot of things, among them my insistence that the Immaculate Conception was spontaneous combustion.

When you have to apologize, it is well, I suppose, to get the thing over quickly.

At birth the Devil touched my tongue.

There must be a magnificent disregard of your reader, for if he cannot follow you, there is nothing you can do about it.

This play John Drinkwater's Abraham Lincoln holds the season's record, thus far, with a run of four evening performances and one matinee. By an odd coincidence, it ran just five performances too many.

My land is bare of chattering folk; / the clouds are low along the ridges, / and sweet's the air with curly smoke / from all my burning bridges.

He is a writer for the ages, the ages of four to eight.