People Don't Choose Their Careers; They Are

The Terrible Thing About Having New York Go Stale On You Is That There's Nowhere Else. It's The Top Of The World.

The Only Excuse For A Novelist, Aside From The Entertainment And Vicarious Living His Books Give The People Who Read Them, Is As A Sort Of Second-class Historian Of The Age He Lives In. The "reality" He Missed By Writing About Imaginary People, He Gains By Being Able To Build A Reality More Nearly Out Of His Own Factual Experience Than A Plain Historian Or Biographer Can.

The Enormous Room Seems To Me To Be The Book That Has Nearest Approached The Mood Of Reckless Adventure In Which Men Will Reach The White Heat Of Imagination Needed To Fuse The Soggy Disjointed Complexity Of The Industrial Life About Us Into Seething Fluid Of Creation. There Can Be No More Playing Safe.

It's Almost Worth Having Been In The Army For The Joy Your Freedom Gives You

The Mind Cannot Support Moral Chaos For Long. Men Are Under As Strong A Compulsion To Invent An Ethical Setting For Their Behavior As Spiders Are To Weave Themselves Webs