There's no sauce for play like work.

A closed mind is a dying mind.

People permit life to slide past them like a deft pickpocket, their purse-not yet missed and now too late-in his hand.

I don't know what it is that makes a writer go to his desk in his shut-off room day after day after year after year unless it is the sure knowledge that not to have done the daily stint of writing that day is infinitely more agonizing than to write.

Does one eat peanuts at a ball game?' 'It ain't hardly legal if you don't.

A writer's working hours are his waking hours. He is working as long as he is conscious and frequently when he isn't.

Spring ... made fair false promises which summer was called upon to keep.