“I thought of the future, and spoke of the past.”

I believe more in the scissors than I do in the pencil.

Failure is the condiment that gives success its flavor.

And in this moment, like a swift intake of breath, the rain came.

It’s a very excruciating life facing that blank piece of paper every day and having to reach up somewhere into the clouds and bring something down out of them.

The quietness of his tone italicized the malice of his reply.

I can see every monster as they come in.

Reading dreams. That’s what started her walking down the road. Every day she’d walk a little further: a mile, and come home. Two miles, and come home. One day she just kept on.

Great fury, like great whisky, requires long fermentation.

Are the dead as lonesome as the living?

There is nobody in the world that you can’t get if you really concentrate on it, if you really want them. You’ve got to want it to the exclusion of everything else.

You can’t give your heart to a wild thing.

A work of art is one of mystery, the one extreme magic; everything else is either arithmetic or biology.

Home is where you feel at home. I’m still looking.

I just live one day at a time. That’s my new theory in life.

Have you never heard what the wise men say: all of the future exists in the past.

Most people who become suddenly famous overnight will find that they lose practically eighty percent of their friends. Your old friends just can’t stand it for some reason.