You're a slave, a bound helpless slave to one thing in the world, your imagination.

in crowded rooms they would form words with their lips for each other's eyes

Beware the artist who's an intellectual also. The artist who doesn't fit.

Given a decent start any girl can beat a man nowadays.

My God,' he gasped, 'you're fun to kiss.

They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.

To have something to say is a question of sleepless nights and worry and endless ratiocination of subject - of endless trying to dig out the essential truth, the essential justice. As a first premise you have to develop a conscience and if on top of that you have talent so much the better. But if you have talent without the conscience, you are just one of many thousands of journalists.