There is a strong feeling in the Middle West that the artist is not pulling his own weight no matter how hard he may work, that the other people are doing the real stuff.

Maturity is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists, unless laughter could be said to remedy anything.

Has any psychological experiment yielded a more delightful suggestion than this one: that there is a part of the mind without ambition or information, which nonetheless is expert on what is beautiful?

Historians in the future, in my opinion, will congratulate us on very little other than our clowning and our jazz.

The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable.

Mere opinions, in fact, were as likely to govern people's actions as hard evidence, and were subject to sudden reversals as hard evidence could never be.

I was clasified as a 'Science Fiction' writer simply because I wrote about Schenectady.