I had a world, and it slipped away from me. The War blew up more than the bodies of men....It blew ideas away.

People keep on getting married. Evidently hope is eternal in the human breast.

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

The eighteen years he has lived seem but a moment, a breathing space in the long march of humanity. Already he hears death calling. With all his heart he wants to come close to some other human, touch someone with his hands, be touched by the hand of another.

In youth there are always two forces fighting in people. The warm unthinking little animal struggles against the thing that reflects and remembers

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

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