Perhaps Too Much Of Everything Is As

I Like Any Place That Isn't Here.

Writers Of Novels Are So Busy Being Solitary That They Haven't Time To Meet One Another. But Then, A Writer Learns Nothing From A Writer, Conversationally. If A Writer Has Anything Witty, Profound Or Quotable To Say He Doesn't Say It. He's No Fool. He Writes It.

There Is An Interesting Resemblance In The Speeches Of Dictators, No Matter What Country They May Hail From Or What Language They May Speak.

I Think That In Order To Write Really Well And Convincingly, One Must Be Somewhat Poisoned By Emotion.

In New York The Sky Is Bluer, And The Grass Is Greener, And The Girls Are Prettier, And The Steaks Are Thicker, And The Buildings Are Higher, And The Streets Are Wider, And The Air Is Finer, Than The Sky, Or The Grass, Or The Girls, Or The Steaks, Or The Air Of Any Place Else In The World.