We are the breakers of our own hearts
If you haven't surprised yourself, you haven't written.
The excursion is the same when you go looking for your sorrow as when you go looking for your joy.
Laurel could not see her face but only the back of her neck, the most vulnerable part of anybody, and she thought: Is there any sleeping person you can be entirely sure you have not misjudged?
The very greatest mystery is in unsheathed reality itself.
The challenge to writers today, I think, is not to disown any part of our heritage. Whatever our theme in writing, it is old and tried. Whatever our place, it has been visited by the stranger, it will never be new again. It is only the vision that can be new; but that is enough.