I worked for half a cent a word. I'm not a fast writer to begin with, so for the first few years I had do other things.

It is useless, after all, to complain against inexorable reality.

I suspect that the word (art) was invented by second-rate intelligences to describe the incomprehensible activities of their betters.

Somebody else's ignorance is bliss.

Beauty compelled admiration and erotic yearning; such was its organic function. But never by itself could it command love.

I give dignity second place to expedience.

An inch of foreknowledge is worth ten miles of after-thought.