Positano bites deep. It is a dream place that isn’t quite real when you are there and becomes beckoningly real after you have gone.

The curious hocus-pocus of criticism I can't take seriously. It consists in squirreling up some odd phrases and then waiting for a book to come running by.

It has always been my private conviction that any man who puts his intelligence up against a fish and loses had it coming.

I don’t mind getting smacked on the chin. I just don’t want to get nibbled to death. There’s a difference.

Death was a friend, and sleep was Death's brother.

George's voice became deeper. He repeated his words rhythmically as though he had said them many times before. 'Guys like us, that work on ranches, are the loneliest guys in the world. They got no family. They don't belong no place. They come to a ranch an' work up a stake, and the first thing you know they're poundin' their tail on some other ranch. They ain't got nothing to look ahead to.

Man is the only kind of varmint sets his own trap, baits it, then steps in it.