It was a decent New Year's, but it took a million officers to make it so.
Never insult seven men when all your packing is a six-shooter.
These critics who crucify me do not guess the littlest part of my sincerity. They must be burned in a blaze. I cannot learn from them.
Every once in a while I feel the tremendous force of the novel. But it does not stay with me.
Realism is death to me. I cannot stand life as it is.
I can write best in the silence and solitude of the night, when everyone has retired.