I see so much more than I used to see. The effect has been to depress and sadden and hurt me terribly.

Never insult seven men when all your packing is a six-shooter.

I will see this game of life out to its bitter end

What makes life worth living? Better surely, to yield to the stain of suicide blood in me and seek forgetfulness in the embrace of cold dark death.

No one connected intimately with a writer has any appreciation of his temperament, except to think him overdoing everything.

There was never an angler who lived but that there was a fish capable of taking the conceit out of him.

The Indian story has never been written. Maybe I am the man to do it.