I feel that I am writing out of a full life. I am a rich man, rich in men known, in adventures had. I am rich with living.

I go about looking at horses and cattle. They eat grass, make love, work when they have to, bear their young. I am sick with envy of them.

You can make a killing as a playwright in America, but you can't make a living.

Realism, in so far as the word means reality to life, is always bad art.

The writing of words can lead to all sorts of absurdities.

It is no use. I find it impossible to work with security staring me in the face.

Dare to be strong and courageous. That is the road. Venture anything.