I only write when I feel the inspiration. Fortunately, inspiration strikes at 10:00 o'clock every day.

Really the writer doesn't want success. . . . He knows he has a short span of life, that the day will come when he must pass through the wall of oblivion, and he wants to leave a scratch on that wall - Kilroy was here - that somebody a hundred, or a thousand years later will see.

An artist is a creature driven by demons. He don't know why they choose him and he's usually too busy to wonder why.

I knew that nobody but a luckless man could ever need a doctor in the face of a cyclone.

I will never lie again.

If I had not existed, someone else would have written me, Hemingway, Dostoyevsky, all of us.

Who is he who will affirm that there must be a web of flesh and bone to hold the shape of love?