“A sad soul can kill quicker than a germ.”

How can you frighten a man whose hunger is not only in his own cramped stomach but in the wretched bellies of his children? You can’t scare him–he has known a fear beyond every other.

With all our horrors and faults, somewhere in us there is a shining.

Socialism is just another form of religion, and thus delusional.

Write freely and as rapidly as possible and throw the whole thing on paper.

And, of course, people are interested only in themselves. If a story is not about the hearer he will not listen.

When a man comes to die, no matter what his talents and influences and genius, if he dies unloved his life must be a failure to him and his dying a cold horror.

A writer lives in awe of words, for they can be cruel or kind, and they can change their meanings right in front of you. They pick up flavors and odors like butter in a refrigerator.

If you’re in trouble, or hurt or need – go to the poor people. They’re the only ones that’ll help – the only ones.

I have come to believe that a great teacher is a great artist and that there are as few as there are any other great artists. Teaching might even be the greatest of the arts since the medium is the human mind and spirit.

I believe that love cannot be bought except with love.

Only mediocrity escapes criticism.

Girls have a way of knowing or feeling what you feel, but they usually like to hear it also.

My imagination will get me a passport to hell one day.

I am convinced that basically dogs think humans are nuts.

There’s nothing in the world like that first taste of beer.

The great companies did not know that the line between hunger and anger is a thin line.

Time passes, and little by little everything that we have spoken in falsehood becomes true.

Everything great in the world comes from neurotics. They alone have founded our religions and composed our masterpieces.

Caesar had his Brutus, Charles the First his Cromwell; and George the Third — [‘Treason!’ cried the Speaker] — may profit by their example. If this be treason, make the most of it.

The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.

He knew everything there was to know about literature, except how to enjoy it.

Do you realize that all great literature is all about what a bummer it is to be a human being? Isn’t it such a relief to have somebody say that?

All I am is literature, and I am not able or willing to be anything else.

Of course this chattering diary is a facade, the literary equivalent of the everyday smiling face which hides the inward ravages of jealousy, remorse, fear and the consciousness of irretrievable moral failure. Yet such pretenses are not only consolations but may even be productive of a little ersatz courage.