Winter Is Not A Season In The

Every Compulsion Is Put Upon Writers To Become Safe, Polite, Obedient, And Sterile. In Protest, I Declined Election To The National Institute Of Arts And Letters Some Years Ago, And Now I Must Decline The Pulitzer Prize.

If Travel Were So Inspiring And Informing A Business ... Then The Wisest Men In The World Would Be Deck Hands On Tramp Steamers.

You've Been Telling Us About How To Secure Peace, But Come On, Now, General-just Among Us Rotarians And Rotary Anns-'fess Up! With Your Great Experience, Don't You Honest, Cross-your-heart, Think That Perhaps-just Maybe-when A Country Has Gone Money-mad, Like All Our Labor Unions And Workmen, With Their Propaganda To Hoist Income Taxes, So That The Thrifty And Industrious Have To Pay For The Shiftless Ne'er-do-weels, Then Maybe, To Save Their Lazy Souls And Get Some Iron Into Them, A War Might Be A Good Thing? Come On, Now, Tell Your Real Middle Name, Mong General!

It Has Not Yet Been Recorded That Any Human Being Has Gained A Very Large Or Permanent Contentment From Meditation Upon The Fact That He Is Better Off Than Others.

Fortune Has Dealt With Me Rather Too Well. I Have Known Little Struggle, Not Much Poverty, Many Generosities. Now And Then I Have, For My Books Or Myself, Been Somewhat Warmly Denounced -- There Was One Good Pastor In California Who Upon Reading My Elmer Gantry Desired To Lead A Mob And Lynch Me, While Another Holy Man In The State Of Maine Wondered If There Was No Respectable And Righteous Way Of Putting Me In Jail.