Maybe the hardest thing in writing is simply to tell the truth about things as we see them.

He can kill anything for need but he could not even hurt a feeling for pleasure.

And now the forces marshaled around the concept of the group have declared a war of extermination on that preciousness, the mind of man.

But you must give him some sign, some sign that you love him... or he'll never be a man. All his life he'll feel guilty and alone unless you release him.

Fella says today, 'Depression is over. I seen a jackrabbit, an' they wasn't nobody after him.' An' another fella says, 'That aint the reason. Can't afford to kill jackrabbits no more. Catch 'em and milk 'em an' turn 'em loose. One you seen prob'ly gone dry.

Hate cannot live alone. It must have love as a trigger, a goad, or a stimulant.

New York is an ugly city, a dirty city. Its climate is a scandal, its politics are used to frighten children, its traffic is madness, its competition is murderous. But there is one thing about it - once you have lived in New York and it has become your home, no place else is good enough.