What a writer's obituary should read - he wrote the books, then he died.

A man is the sum of his misfortunes. One day you'd think misfortune would get tired but then time is your misfortune

The writer's only responsibility is to his art. He will be completely ruthless if he is a good one. He has a dream. It anguishes him so much he must get rid of it. He has no peace until then. Everything goes by the board: honor, pride, decency, security, happiness, all, to get the book written. If a writer has to rob his mother, he will not hesitate; the 'Ode on a Grecian Urn' is worth any number of old ladies.

Talk, talk, talk: the utter and heartbreaking stupidity of words.

Surely heaven must have something of the color and shape of whatever village or hill or cottage of which the believer says, This is my own.

I think that-that anyone, the painter, the musician, the writer works in a-a kind of an-an insane fury. He's demon-driven. He can get up feeling rotten, with a hangover, or with-with actual pain, and-and if he gets to work, the first thing he knows, he don't remember that pain, that hangover-he's too busy.

No man can cause more grief than that one clinging blindly to the vices of his ancestors.