You're bound to get idears if you go thinkin' about stuff

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

Nearly everyone has his box of secret pain.

The new American finds his challenge and his love in the traffic-choked streets, skies nested in smog, choking with the acids of industry, the screech of rubber and houses leashed in against one another while the town lets wither a time and die.

One man was so mad at me that he ended his letter, "Beware. You will never get out of this world alive."

I wish to God I knew as much about writing as I did when I was 19. I was absolutely certain about most things then. Also, I suspect, more accurate.

The ways of sin are curious . . . I guess if a man had to shuck off everything he had, inside and out, he'd manage to hide a few little sins somewhere for his own discomfort. They're the last things we'll give up.