Let your fiction grow out of the land beneath your feet.

Too much information is rather deadening.

life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose.

Thirty or forty years ago, in one those grey towns along the Burlington railroad which are so much greyer to-day than they were then, there was a house well know from Omaha to Denver for its hospitality and for a certain charm of atmosphere.

So long as a novelist works selfishly for the pleasure of creating character and situation corresponding to his own illusions, ideals and intuitions, he will always produce something worth while and natural. Directly he takes himself too seriously and begins for the alleged benefit of humanity an elaborate dissection of complexes, he evolves a book that is more ridiculous and tiresome than the most conventional cold cream girl novel of yesterday.

Men are all right for friends, but as soon as you marry them they turn into cranky old fathers, even the wild ones.

People have to snatch at happiness when they can, in this world. It is always easier to lose than to find.