I must be like the princess who felt the pea through seven mattresses; each book is a pea.

A whim, a passing mood, readily induces the novelist to move hearth and home elsewhere. He can always plead work as an excuse to get him out of the clutches of bothersome hosts.

When a man who is drinking neat gin starts talking about his mother he is past all argument.

The lucky man is he who knows how much to leave to chance.

The work is with me when I wake up in the morning; it is with me while I eat my breakfast in bed and run through the newspaper, while I shave and bathe and dress.

Novel writing wrecks homes.

Perhaps that suspicion of fraud enhances the flavor.

A man who writes for a living does not have to go anywhere in particular, and he could rarely afford to if he wanted.

Novel writing is far and away the most exhausting work I know.

There is no other way of writing a novel than to begin at the beginning at to continue to the end.

I'd rather be in trouble for having done something than for not having done anything.

The truth will set you free, they say, but believe me, nothing will set you free.

I was raised to be ashamed of my ignorance, and to try to do something about it if at all possible.

We must remember that possession of physical beauty can easily weaken the moral faculty.

We know that nature is described by the best of all possible mathematics because God created it.

No matter in what land we may dwell the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ makes us brothers and sisters, interested in each other, eager to understand and know each other.

Lucky men are favorites of Heaven.

The blues is also existential and offers a sense of mature reflection that enabled it to be the leitmotif of modern life.

It is quite a thing. There are so many men, all endlessly trying to sweep me off my feet. And there is one of you, trying just the opposite. Making sure my feet are firm beneath me lest I fall.

All Christians have the Spirit of Christ, but not all Christians have the mind of Christ.