She plucked from my lapel the invisible strand of lint (the universal act of woman to proclaim ownership).

Yes, I get dry spells. Sometimes I can't turn out a thing for three months. When one of those spells comes on I quit trying to work and go out and see something of life. You can't write a story that's got any life in it by sitting at a writing table and thinking. You've got to get out into the streets, into the crowds, talk with people, and feel the rush and throb of real life-that's the stimulant for a story writer.

In the Big City a man will disappear with the suddenness and completeness of the flame of a candle that is blown out.

If you can't write a story that pleases yourself, you will never please the public. But in writing the story forget the public.

If you live in an atmosphere of luxury, luxury is yours whether your money pays for it, or another's.

All of us have to be prevaricators, hypocrites, and liars every day of our lives; otherwise the social structure would fall into pieces the first day. We must act in one another's presence just as we must wear clothes. It is for the best

I've got some of my best yarns from park benches, lamp posts and newspaper stands.