We all, sometimes, leave each other there under the skies, and we never understand why.

Brazil was beastly but Buenos Aires the best. Not Tiffany's, but almost.

Work is the only device I know of.

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

All writing, all art, is an act of faith. If one tries to contribute to human understanding, how can that be called decadent? It's like saying a declaration of love is an act of decadence. Any work of art, provide it springs from a sincere motivation to further understanding between people, is an act of faith and therefore is an act of love.

New York is the only real city-city.

A disquieting loneliness came into my life, but it induced no hunger for friends of longer acquaintance: they seemed now like a salt-free, sugarless diet.