The only thing very noticeable about Nebraska was that it was still, all day long, Nebraska.

What was any art but a mould in which to imprison for a moment the shining elusive element which is life itself - life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose.

This land was an enigma. It was like a horse that no one knows how to break to harness, that runs wild and kicks things to pieces.

Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen.

Most publishers, like most writers, are ruined by their successes.

Desire is creation, is the magical element in that process. If there were an instrument by which to measure desire, one could foretell achievement.

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