I was always a lonely person when I was with everyone.

Nobody knows what's in him until he tries to pull it out. If there's nothing, or very little, the shock can kill a man.

I am opposed to writing about the private lives of living authors and psychoanalyzing them while they are alive. Criticism is getting all mixed up with a combination of the Junior FBI-men, discards from Freud and Jung and a sort of Columnist peep-hole and missing laundry list school. ... Every young English professor sees gold in them dirty sheets now. Imagine what they can do with the soiled sheets of four legal beds by the same writer and you can see why their tongues are slavering.

There are some things which cannot be learned quickly, and time, which is all we have, must be paid heavily for their acquiring.

He rested sitting on the un-stepped mast and sail and tried not to think but only to endure.

I say that is wine," Brett held up her glass. "We ought to toast something. 'Here's to royalty.'" "This wine is too good for toast-drinking, my dear. you don't want to mix emotions up with a wine like that. you lose the taste." Brett's glass was empty.

The brave dies perhaps two thousand deaths if he's intelligent. He simply doesn't mention them.