“I’ll give you the whole secret to short story writing. Here it is. Rule 1: Write stories that please yourself. There is no Rule 2.”

In the Big City a man will disappear with the suddenness and completeness of the flame of a candle that is blown out.

It’ll be a great place if they ever finish it.

A burglar who respects his art always takes his time before taking anything else.

Of habit, the power that keeps the earth from flying to pieces; though there is some silly theory of gravitation.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

Fortune is a prize to be won. Adventure is the road to it. Chance is what may lurk in the shadows at the roadside.

My advice to you, if you should ever be in a hold up, is to line up with the cowards and save your bravery for an occasion when it may be of some benefit to you.

Hospitality in the prairie country is not limited. Even if your enemy passes your way, you must feed him before you shoot him.

If you can’t write a story that pleases yourself, you will never please the public. But in writing the story forget the public.

It’s said that love makes the world go around. Let me tell you, the announcement lacks verification. It’s the wind from the dinner horn that does it.

Except in streetcars one should never be unnecessarily rude to a lady.

When I see a shipwreck, I like to know what caused the disaster. I learned nothing but the glow that wrapped her face when the soup came. That’s the story.

Turn up the lights. I don’t want to go home in the dark.

We can’t buy one minute of time with cash; if we could, rich people would live longer.

Humans were denied the speech of animals. The only common ground of communication upon which dogs and men can get together is in fiction.

If you live in an atmosphere of luxury, luxury is yours whether your money pays for it, or another’s.