Happiness, happiness ... the flavor is with you-with you alone, and you can make it as intoxicating as you please.

A historian may be an artist too, and a novelist is a historian, the preserver, the keeper, the expounder, of human experience.

Being a woman is a terribly difficult task, since it consists principally in dealing with men.

The sky over Patusan was blood-red, immense, streaming like an open vein. An enormous sun nestled crimson amongst the treetops, and the forest below had a black and forbidding face.

Who knows what true loneliness is - not the conventional word but the naked terror? To the lonely themselves it wears a mask. The most miserable outcast hugs some memory or some illusion.

All one's work might have been better done; but this is a sort of reflection a worker must put aside courageously if he doesn't mean every one of his conceptions to remain forever a private vision, an evanescent reverie.

I take it that what all men are really after is some form or perhaps only some formula of peace.