My Big Fish Must Be Somewhere.

Until The Dead Are Buried They Change Somewhat In Appearance Each Day. The Color Change In Caucasian Races Is From White To Yellow, To Yellow-green, To Black. If Left Long Enough In The Heat The Flesh Comes To Resemble Coal-tar, Especially Where It Has Been Broken Or Torn, And It Has Quite A Visible Tarlike Iridescence. The Dead Grow Larger Each Day Until Sometimes They Become Quite Too Big For Their Uniforms, Filling These Until They Seem Blown Tight Enough To Burst. The Individual Members May Increase In Girth To An Unbelievable Extent And Faces Fill As Taut And Globular As Balloons.

I Don't Like To Write Like God. It Is Only Because You Never Do It, Though, That The Critics Think You Can't Do It.

Paris Is So Very Beautiful That It Satisfies Something In You That Is Always Hungry In America.

To Hell With Luck. I'll Bring The Luck With Me.

When Writing A Novel A Writer Should Create Living People; People Not Characters. A Character Is A Caricature.