I wonder if we are all wrong about each other, if we are just composing unwritten novels about the people we meet?

I write books to find out about things.

Journalism: an ability to meet the challenge of filling the space.

Mr. James Joyce is a great man who is entirely without taste.

The American struggle for the vote was much more difficult than the English for the simple reason that it was much more easy.

The memory, experiencing and re-experiencing, has such power over one's mere personal life, that one has merely lived.

The trouble about man is twofold. He cannot learn truths which are too complicated; he forgets truths which are too simple.

There is in every one of us an unending see-saw between the will to live and the will to die.

There is no logical reason why the camel of great art should pass through the needle of mob intelligence.

There is no wider gulf in the universe than yawns between those on the hither and thither side of vital experience.

Everyone realizes that one can believe little of what people say about each other. But it is not so widely realized that even less can one trust what people say about themselves.

Just how difficult it is to write biography can be reckoned by anybody who sits down and considers just how many people know the real truth about his or her love affairs.

We all drew on the comfort which is given out by the major works of Mozart, which is as real and material as the warmth given up by a glass of brandy.

I myself have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is: I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat.

Did St. Francis preach to the birds? Whatever for? If he really liked birds he would have done better to preach to the cats.

It is always one's virtues and not one's vices that precipitate one into disaster.

I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat or a prostitute.

Because hypocrisy stinks in the nostrils one is likely to rate it as a more powerful agent for destruction than it is.

Life ought to be a struggle of desire toward adventures whose nobility will fertilize the soul.

A strong hatred is the best lamp to bear in our hands as we go over the dark places of life, cutting away the dead things men tell us to revere.