At the bottom of every frozen heart there is a drop or two of love―just enough to feed the birds.

The American white man (not to speak of the Indian, the Negro, the Mexican) hasn't a ghost of a chance. If he has any talent he's doomed to have it crushed one way or another. The American way is to seduce a man by bribery and make a prostitute of him. Or else to ignore him, starve him into submission and make a hack of him.

On the meridian of time, there is no injustice: there is only the poetry of motion creating the illusion of truth and drama.

Cluster together like stars!

In every man's heart there is anchored a little schooner.

All my good reading, you might say, was done in the toilet.

Los Angeles gives one the feeling of the future more strongly than any city I know of. A bad future, too, like something out of Fritz Lang's feeble imagination.