Composing on the typewriter, I find that I am sloughing off all my long sentences which I used to dote upon. Short, staccato, like modern French prose. The typewriter makes for lucidity, but I am not sure that it encourages subtlety.

The immature poet imitates, the mature poet plagiarizes.

A wrong attitude toward nature implies, somewhere, a wrong attitude toward God.

An editor should tell the author his writing is better than it is. Not a lot better, a little better.

The overwhelming pressure of mediocrity, sluggish and indomitable as a glacier, will mitigate the most violent, and depress the most exalted revolution.

Humankind cannot stand reality.

The end is where we start from.