He liked the works of his friends, which is beautiful as loyalty but can be disastrous as judgement.

Paris is so very beautiful that it satisfies something in you that is always hungry in America.

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 would write one true sentence, and then go on from there.

My writing is nothing, my boxing is everything.

Bigotry is an odd thing. To be bigoted you have to be absolutely sure you are right and nothing makes that surety and righteousness like continence. Continence is the foe of heresy.

All stories, if continued far enough, end in death.