Madness is only a variety of mental nonconformity and we are all individualists here.

But to make the intangible tangible, to pick the emotion out of the air and make it true for others, is both the blessing and the curse of the writer, for the thing between book covers is never as beautiful as the thing he imagined.

I do not understand how anyone can live without some small place of enchantment to turn to.

Personal publicity is apt to be dangerous to any writer's integrity; for the moment he begins to fancy himself as quite a person, a taint creeps into his work.

Readers themselves, I think, contribute to a book. They add their own imaginations, and it is as though the writer only gave them something to work on, and they did the rest.

Information can be passed from one to another, like a silver dollar. There's absolutely no wisdom except what you learn for yourself.

Words began fights and words ended them.