Some day some one will write a book about that frantic search of the creative worker for silence and freedom, not only from interruption but from the fear of interruption.

We are often miserable at our desk or typewriters, but not happy away from them.

Death was a beginning and not an end; it was the morning of the spirit. Tired bodies lay down to sleep and their souls wakened to the morning, rested; the first fruits of them that slept.

there comes a time when ambition ceases to burn, or romance to stir, and the highest cry of the human heart is for peace.

It's the safety valve of middle life, and the solace of age.

it is axiomatic with most writing people that there are no such things as perfect conditions for work.

I have a great deal of mind. It takes a long time to change it.