Living the past is a dull and lonely business; looking back strains the neck muscles, causing you to bump into people not going your way.

I never would just open a door and walk through, I had to bust it down for the hell of it. I just naturally liked doing things the hard way.

The ideal view for daily writing, hour for hour, is the blank brick wall of a cold-storage warehouse. Failing this, a stretch of sky will do, cloudless if possible.

Being an old maid is like death by drowning, a really delightful sensation after you cease to struggle.

Writing, to be memorable, must be done in a state of impassioned serenity.

I sometimes wonder ... if the land is not destroying the people who inhabit it as the people who inhabit it are destroying the land. A magic continent, a Peculiar Treasure, stuffed with riches, millions in it are starving in the midst of plenty.

Any garment which is cut to fit you is much more becoming, even if it is not so splendid as a garment which has been cut to fit somebody not of your stature.