[T]he army of wrongness rampant in the world might as well march over me.

Rusty thinks I should smoke marijuana, and I did for a while, but it only makes me giggle.

Time. Time. What is time? Swiss manufacture it, French hoard it, Italians squander it, Americans say it is money. Hindus say it does not exist. Know what I say? I say time is a crook.

If a man doesn't like baseball, then he must like horses, and if he doesn't like either of them, well, I'm in trouble anyway: he don't like girls.

There is such an animal as a nonstylist, only they're not writers - they're typists.

That isn't writing at all, it's typing.

At one time I used to keep notebooks with outlines for stories. But I found doing this somehow deadened the idea in my imagination. If the notion is good enough, if it truly belongs to you, then you can't forget it-it will haunt you till it's written.