In my heart there may be doubt that I deserve the Nobel award over other men of letters whom I hold in respect and reverence, but there is no question of my pleasure and pride in having it for myself.

And finally comes culture, which is entertainment, relaxation, transport out of the pain of living.

You can't go home again because home has ceased to exist except in the mothballs of memory.

Just set one day's work in front of the last day's work. That's the way it comes out. And that's the only way it does.

Any man of reasonable intelligence can make money if that's what he wants. Mostly it's women or clothes or admiration he really wants and they deflect him.

Luck or tragedy, some people get runs. Then of course there are those who divide it even, good and bad, but we never hear of them. Such a life doesn't demand attention. Only the people who get the good or bad runs.

An ocean without unnamed monsters would be like sleep without dreams.