There are only two places in the world where we can live happy: at home and in Paris.

Luck is a thing that comes in many forms and who can recognize her?

Always stop for the day while you still know what will happen next.

Since I had started to break down all my writing and get rid of all facility and try to make instead of describe, writing had been wonderful to do.

For a true writer each book should be a new beginning, where he tries again for something that is beyond attainment.

Up the road, in his shack, the old man was sleeping again. He was still sleeping on his face and the boy was sitting by him watching him. The old man was dreaming about the lions.

I was as afraid as the next man in my time and maybe more so. But with the years, fear had come to be regarded as a form of stupidity to be classed with overdrafts, acquiring a venereal disease or eating candies. Fear is a child's vice and while I loved to feel it approach, as one does with any vice, it was not for grown men and the only thing to be afraid of was the presence of true and imminent danger in a form that you should be aware of and not be a fool if you were responsible for others.