I have little belief in human progress. The human race is incurably idiotic. It will never be happy.

No romantic novel ever written in America, by man or woman, is one half so beautiful as My Ántonia.

[Texas is] the place where there are the most cows and the least milk and the most rivers and the least water in them, and where you can look the farthest to see the least.

There are two kinds of music; German music and bad music.

Kipling, the grandson of a Methodist preacher, reveals the tin-pot evangelist with increasing clarity as youth and its ribaldries pass away and he falls back upon his fundamentals.

I'm thoroughly convinced that editors don't help authors.

Once a woman passes a certain point in intelligence she finds it almost impossible to get a husband: she simply cannot go on listening without snickering.