I hated Hemingway. I liked Faulkner but he was a bore.
Oh Jesus God we did belong to each other. He was mine.
I haven't anything against whores, except this: some of them may have an honest tongue but they all have dishonest hearts.
Sometimes when I think how good my book can be, I can hardly breathe.
It is the want to know the end that makes us believe in God, or witchcraft, believe, at least, in something
But it's Sunday, Mr. Bell. Clocks are slow on Sundays.