I've been and am absurdly over-estimated. There are no supermen and I'm quite ordinary, and will say so whatever the artistic results. In that point I'm one of the few people who tell the truth about myself.

Misery, anger, indignation, discomfort-those conditions produce literature. Contentment-never. So there you are.

To me an unnecessary action, or shot, or casualty, was not only waste but sin.

The beginning and ending of the secret of handling Arabs is unremitting study of them.

Many men would take the death-sentence without a whimper, to escape the life-sentence which fate carries in her other hand.

The Beduin could not look for God within him: he was too sure that he was within God.

There is an ideal standard somewhere and only that matters and I cannot find it. Hence the aimlessness.