I may not be as stong as I think, but I know many tricks and I have resolution.

He could beat anything, he thought, because no thing could hurt him if he did not care.

The further you go in writing the more alone you are.

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.

In the early morning on the lake sitting in the stern of the boat with his father rowing, he felt quite sure that he would never die.

Each day of not writing, of comfort, of being that which he despised, dulled his ability and softened his will to work so that, finally, he did no work at all.

I was always embarresed by the words 'sacred,' 'glorious,' and 'sacrifice' and the expression 'in vain.' We had heard them, sometimes standing in the rain almost out of earshot, so that only the shouted words came through, and had read them on proclamations that were slapped up by billposters over other proclamations, now for a long time, and I had seen nothing sacred, and the things that were glorious had no glory and the sacrifices were like the stock yards at Chicago if nothing was done with the meat except to bury it.