It was one of the dullest speeches I ever heard. The Agee woman told us for three quarters of an hour how she came to write her beastly book, when a simple apology was all that was required.

I believe there are two ways of writing novels. One is mine, making a sort of musical comedy without music and ignoring real life altogether; the other is going right deep down into life and not caring a damn.

I never want to see anyone, and I never want to go anywhere or do anything. I just want to write.

We do not tell old friends beneath our roof-tree that they are an offence to the eyesight.

What's the use of a great city having temptations if fellows don't yield to them?

I don’t know if you have had the same experience, but the snag I always come up against when I’m telling a story is this dashed difficult problem of where to begin it.

Why do dachshunds wear their ears inside out?