There’s no sight on earth more appealing than that of a woman making dinner for someone she loves.

My dear, dear girl [. . .] we can't turn back the days that have gone. We can't turn life back to the hours when our lungs were sound, our blood hot, our bodies young. We are a flash of fire--a brain, a heart, a spirit. And we are three-cents-worth of lime and iron--which we cannot get back.

There is one voyage, the first, the last, the only one.

The old hunger for voyages fed at his heart....To go alone...into strange cities; to meet strange people and to pass again before they could know him; to wander, like his own legend, across the earth--it seemed to him there could be no better thing than that.

What I had to face, the very bitter lesson that everyone who wants to write has got to learn, was that a thing may in itself be the finest piece of writing one has ever done, and yet have absolutely no place in the manuscript one hopes to publish.

You have reached the pinnacle of success as soon as you become uninterested in money, compliments, or publicity.

Is this not the true romantic feeling; not to desire to escape life, but to prevent life from escaping you.