I Find The Public Passion For Justice

I Was In New York. Hitchcock Was In California. He Rang Me To Make A Report On His Progress And Said, I'm Having Trouble. I've Just Sacked My Second Screenwriter

I Can't Write If Someone Else Is In The House, Not Even The Cleaning Woman.

Then Carol Slipped Her Arm Under Her Neck, And All The Length Of Their Bodies Touched Fitting As If Something Had Prearranged It. Happiness Was Like A Green Vine Spreading Through Her, Stretching Fine Tendrils, Bearing Flowers Through Her Flesh. She Had A Vision Of A Pale White Flower, Shimmering As If Seen In Darkness, Or Through Water. Why Did People Talk Of Heaven, She Wondered

Each Book Is, In A Sense, An Argument With Myself, And I Would Write It, Whether It Is Ever Published Or Not.

Anticipation! It Occurred To Him That His Anticipation Was More Pleasant To Him Than The Experiencing.