Life is a moderately good play with a badly written third act.

One always likes one's latest book best. That's a natural feeling.

Yes: but aren't love and marriage notoriously synonymous in the minds of most women? Certainly very few men get the first without promising the second: love, that is--if it's just a matter of spreading her legs, almost any woman will do that for nothing.

The enemy was anyone who was someone he wanted to be or who had anything he wanted to have.

Love should be allowed. I’m all for it. Now that I’ve got a pretty good idea what it is.

Still, when all is said, somewhere one must belong: even the soaring falcon returns to its master's wrist.

I hated Hemingway. I liked Faulkner but he was a bore.