I never know what I think about something until I read what I've written on it.
No one individual can tell the truth.
Between grief and nothing, I will take grief.
The Swiss are not a people so much as a neat, clean, quite solvent business.
She clung to that which had robbed her, as people do.
How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home.
The phenomenon of war is its hermaphroditism: the principles of victory and of defeat inhabit the same body and the necessary opponent, enemy, is merely the bed they self-exhaust each other on.
When my horse is running good, I don't stop to give him sugar.
Who is he who will affirm that there must be a web of flesh and bone to hold the shape of love?
You have to write badly in order to write well.
It's terrible to be young. It's terrible. Terrible
I had learned a little about writing from Soldier's Pay - how to approach language, words: not with seriousness so much as an essayist does, but with a kind of alert respect, as you approach dynamite; even with joy, as you approach women: perhaps with the same secretly unscrupulous intentions.
We will have to choose not between color nor race nor religion nor between East and West either, but simply between being slaves and being free. And we will have to choose completely and for good; the time is already past now when we can choose a little of each, a little of both. We can choose a state of slavedom, and if we are powerful enough to be among the top two or three or ten, we can have a certain amount of license - until someone more powerful rises and has us machine-gunned against a cellar wall.
By artist I mean of course everyone who has tried to create something which was not here before him, with no other tools and material than the uncommer-ciable ones of the human spirit.
...the reason for living was to get ready to stay dead a long time.
I only write when I feel the inspiration. Fortunately, inspiration strikes at 10:00 o'clock every day.
Really the writer doesn't want success. . . . He knows he has a short span of life, that the day will come when he must pass through the wall of oblivion, and he wants to leave a scratch on that wall - Kilroy was here - that somebody a hundred, or a thousand years later will see.
When ideas come, I write them; when they don't come, I don't.
Necessity has a way of obliterating from our conduct various delicate scruples regarding honor and pride.
Women do have an affinity for evil, for believing that no woman is to be trusted, but that some men are too innocent to protect themselves.
A man. All men. He will pass up a hundred chances to do good for one chance to meddle where meddling is not wanted. He will overlook and fail to see chances, opportunities, for riches and fame and welldoing, and even sometimes for evil. But he won't fail to see a chance to meddle.
I think that-that anyone, the painter, the musician, the writer works in a-a kind of an-an insane fury. He's demon-driven. He can get up feeling rotten, with a hangover, or with-with actual pain, and-and if he gets to work, the first thing he knows, he don't remember that pain, that hangover-he's too busy.
Maybe times are never strange to women: it is just one continuous monotonous thing full of the repeated follies of their menfolks.
I feel like a wet seed wild in the hot blind earth.
The reason you will not say it is, when you say it, even to yourself, you will know it is true.
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