Hard to sit here and be close to you, and not kiss you.

interested, I mean, with that intense personal interest to which every one has some vague right at the end

I was haunted always by my other life-my drab room in the Bronx, my square foot of the subway, my fixation upon the day's letter from Alabama-would it come and what would it say?-my shabby suits, my poverty, and love. While my friends were launching decently into life I had muscled my inadequate bark into midstream... I was a failure-mediocre at advertising work and unable to get started as a writer. Hating the city, I got roaring, weeping drunk on my last penny and went home.

Work like hell! I had 122 rejection slips before I sold a story.

Nobody ever became a writer just by wanting to be one.

Switzerland is a country where very few things begin, but many things end.

It's not a slam at you when people are rude, it's a slam at the people they've met before.