He wanted to appear suddenly to her in novel and heroic colors. He wanted to stir her from that casualness she showed toward everything except herself.

I love New York on summer afternoons when everyone's away. There's something very sensuous about it - overripe, as if all sorts of funny fruits were going to fall into your hands.

Well, I can't describe her exactly-except to say that she was beautiful. She was-tremendously alive.

I don't much care where I am anymore, nor expect very much from places.

I never blame failure - there are too many complicated situations in life - but I am absolutely merciless toward lack of effort.

She wouldn't let go of the letter. She took it into the tub with her and squeezed it up in a wet ball, and only let me leave it in the soap dish when she saw that it was coming to pieces like snow.

Life is a comedy for those who think and a tragedy for those who feel. Show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy.