I, the dreamer clinging yet to the dream as the patient clings to the last thin unbearable ecstatic instant of agony in order to sharpen the savor of the pain's surcease, waking into the reality, the more than reality, not to the unchanged and unaltered old time but into a time altered to fit the dream which, conjunctive with the dreamer, becomes immolated and apotheosized

War is an episode, a crisis, a fever the purpose of which is to rid the body of fever. So the purpose of a war is to end the war.

You can't beat women anyhow and that if you are wise or dislike trouble and uproar you don't even try to.

When ideas come, I write them; when they don't come, I don't.

It's always the idle habits you acquire which you will regret. Father said that. That Christ was not crucified: he was worn away by a minute clicking of little wheels. That had no sister.

...It seems hard that a man in his need could be so flouted by a road.

This is a free country. Folks have a right to send me letters, and I have a right not to read them.