What's wrong with this egotism? If a man doesn't delight in himself and the force in him and feel that he and it are wonders, how is all life to become important to him?

If people did not want their stories told, it would be better for them to keep away from me.

The writer, an old man with a white moustache, had some difficulty getting into bed.

There is this thing called life. We live it, not as we intend or wish, but as we are driven on by forces outside and inside ourselves.

I have seldom written a story, long or short, that I did not have to write and rewrite. There are single stories of mine that have taken me ten or twelve years to get written.

It may be life is only worthwhile at moments. Perhaps that is all we ought to expect.

Most people are afraid to trust their imaginations and the artist is not.