Art isn't meaningless... It is in itself. It isn't in that it tries to make life less so.

I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere make love to your wife.

Ernest [Hemmingway] was always ready to lend a helping hand to the one on the rung above him.

I don't want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.

In a few days I'll have lived one score and three days in this vale of tears. On I plod-always bored, often drunk, doing no penance for my faults-rather do I become more tolerant of myself from day to day, hardening my crystal heart with blasphemous humor and shunning only toothpicks, pathos, and poverty as being the three unforgivable things in life.

The rhythm of the weekend, with its birth, its planned gaiety, and its announced end, followed the rhythm of life and was a substitute for it.

Sometimes I don't know whether I'm real or whether I'm a character in one of my novels.