Little boys love machines; girls adore horses; grown-up men and women like to walk.

The rich are not very nice. That's why they're rich.

By the age of eighteen, a human has acquired enough joy and heartache to provide the food of reflection for a century.

I always write with my .357 magnum handy. Why? Well, you never know when God may try to interfere.

All we have, it seems to me, is the beauty of art and nature and life, and the love which that beauty inspires.

In this glare of brilliant emptiness, in this arid intensity of pure heat, in the heart of a weird solitude, great silence and grand desolution, all things recede to distrances out of reach, relecting light but impossible to touch, annihilating all thought and all that men have made to a spasm of whirling dust far out on the golden desert.

Three words remain that can yet stir the blood of man: the word 'rebellion'; the word 'revolt'; the word 'revolution'.