In Spanish there is a word for which I can't find a counterword in English. It is the verb VACILAR... It does not mean vacillating at all. If one is vacilando, he is going somewhere, but does not greatly care whether or not he gets there, although he has direction.

It is strange how a man believes he can think better in a special place. I have such a place, have always had it, but I know it isn't thinking I do there, but feeling and experiencing and remembering. It's a safety place. Everyone must have one, although I never heard a man tell of it.

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

The craft of writing is the art of penetrating other minds with the figures that are in your own mind.

Again it might have been the American tendency in travel. One goes, not so much to see but to tell afterward.

Best thing is to get the words down every day. And it is time to start now.

Liza poured thick batter from a pitcher onto a soapstone griddle. The hot cakes rose like little hassocks, and small volcanoes formed and erupted on them until they were ready to be turned. A cheerful brown, they were, with tracings of darker brown. And the kitchen was full of the good sweet smell of them.