I've always been terribly uninterested in criticism. And one of the reasons, I just thought recently, is that you know there are various schools of criticism that will compete, and one will supercede the other.

Perhaps things are most beautiful when they are not quite real; when you look upon a scene as an outsider, and come to possess it in its entirety and forever; when you live in the present with the lucidity and feeling of memory; when, for want of connection, the world deepens and becomes art.

I've never had a cup of coffee in my life. I can't even remain in the same room with coffee.

Heavy blizzards start as a gentle and persistent snow.

A good river is nature's life work in song.

Accident is as much a part of fiction as anything else, symbolic of the grace that, along with will, conspires to put words on the page.

I saw how greatly he suffered the requirement of being clever. It separated him from his soul, and it didn't get him anything other than a living