The difficulty of course is that I like women. It is only wives I am in trouble with.

A good writer always works at the impossible.

The last clear definite function of man — muscles aching to work, minds aching to create beyond the single need — this is man.

Ah, the prayers of the millions, how they must fight and destroy each other on their way to the throne of God.

I’m in love with Montana. For other states I have admiration, respect, recognition, even some affection. But with Montana it is love. And it’s difficult to analyze love when you’re in it.

It was too nerve-wracking, a shocking spectacle, like seeing an old, calm friend go insane.

How can we live without our lives? How will we know it's us without our past?