Suicide is about life, being in fact the sincerest form of criticism life gets.

The American male doesn't mature until he has exhausted all other possibilities.

If the French were really intelligent, they'd speak English.

I rail against writers who talk about the loneliness of it all — what do they want, a crowd looking over their typewriters? Or those who talk about having to stare at a blank page — do they want someone to write on it?

I picked up the writing on the very day he died. It was the only consolation I could find.

The town is as full as ever of 'characters,' all created by each other.

The spiritual life becomes very simple when you're sick.