When ideas come, I write them; when they don't come, I don't.
If I had not existed, someone else would have written me, Hemingway, Dostoyevsky, all of us.
I dont hate it he thought, panting in the cold air, the iron New England dark; I dont. I dont! I dont hate it! I dont hate it!
It is the writer's privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart.
The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means.
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.