There is something shameful about the death of a play. It does not die with pity, but contempt.

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

It is only in his head that man is heroic; in the pit of his stomach he is always a coward.

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

every act of one's life is the unavoidable result of every act that has preceded it.

Every writer knows the terror of an unexpected success. How to carry on? How to repeat it?

Natalie Spenser was giving a dinner. She was not an easy hostess.