How that name comes up. Mixing memory and desire

If Death stepped miraculously through the glass and came in after you, in all probability you just got up and went along with him, ferociously but quietly.

I don't even like old cars. I'd rather have a goddam horse. A horse is at least human, for God's sake.

The room was not impressively large, even by Manhattan apartment-house standards, but its accumulated furnishings might have lent a snug appearance to a banquet hall in Valhalla.

How long should a man's legs be? Long enough to touch the ground.

I'm beginning to feel that no author has the right to tear his characters apart if he doesn't know how, or feel that he knows how (poor sucker) to put them together again. I'm tired—my God, so tired—of leaving them all broken on the page with just 'The End' written underneath.

I’ll read my books and I’ll drink coffee and I’ll listen to music, and I’ll bolt the door.