Cowardice, as distinguished from panic, is almost always simply a lack of ability to suspend the functioning of the imagination.

My life used to be full of everything. Now if you aren't with me I haven't a thing in the world.

When we came back to Paris it was clear and cold and lovely.

The real reason for not committing suicide is because you always know how swell life gets again after the hell is over.

Let’s not talk about how I am. It’s a subject I know too much about to want to think about anymore.

What difference does it make if you live in a picturesque little outhouse surrounded by 300 feeble minded goats and your faithful dog? The question is: Can you write?

One cat just leads to another." [Letter from Finca Vigia, Cuba, to his first wife, Elizabeth Hadley Richardson (1943).]