One of the dangers of the American artist is that he finds himself almost exclusively thrown in with persons more or less in the arts. He lives among them, eats among them, quarrels with them, marries them.

Ninety-nine percent of the people in the world are fools and the rest of us are in great danger of contagion.

The dead don't stay interested in us living people for very long. Gradually, gradually, they let go hold of the earth . . . and the ambitions they had . . . and the things they suffered . . . and the people they loved. They get weaned away from the earth - that's the way I put it - weaned away.

The stuff of which masterpieces are made drifts about the world waiting to be clothed in words.

Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it -- every, every minute?

In advertising, not to be different is virtual suicide.

There's nothing like mixing with women to bring out all the foolishness in a man of sense.