My Pessimism Has Never Been Flabby.

The Lad Who Dreams Of Being A Boxing Champion Or An Admiral Chooses Reality. If The Writer Chooses The Imaginary, He Confuses The Two.

This Desire [to Write] Is Rather Strange All The Same And Is Not Without A Certain "cracked" Quality.

I Have No Need For Good Souls: An Accomplice Is What I Wanted.

Never Have I Thought That I Was The Happy Possessor Of A "talent;" My Sole Concern Has Been To Save Myself By Work And Faith.

To Know What Life Is Worth You Have To Risk It Once In A While.