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Madame, all stories, if continued far enough, end in death, and he is no true-story teller who would keep that from you.

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Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.

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His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did...more

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I didn't want to kiss you goodbye — that was the trouble — I wanted to kiss you good night — and there's a lot of difference.

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Love is just another dirty lie. Love is ergoapiol pills to make me come around because you were afraid to have a baby. Love is quinine and quinine and...more

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I had drunk much wine and afterward coffee and Strega and I explained, winefully, how we did not do the things we wanted to do; we never did such thin...more

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I’m trying in all my stories to get the feeling of the actual life across—not to just depict life—or criticize it—but to actually make it alive. So th...more

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You see, I am trying in all my stories to get the feeling of the actual life across - not to just depict life - or criticize it - but to actually make...more

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The real reason for not committing suicide is because you always know how swell life gets again after the hell is over.

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Look at the ugliness. Yet one has a feeling within one that blinds a man while he loves you. You, with that feeling, blind him, and blind yourself. Th...more

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That was what you did. You died. You did not know what it was about. They threw you in and told you the rules and the first time they caught you off b...more

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There are some things which cannot be learned quickly, and time, which is all we have, must be paid heavily for their acquiring. They are the very sim...more

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Let those who want to save the world if you can get to see it clear and as a whole. Then any part you make will represent the whole if it's made truly...more

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How little we know of what there is to know. I wish that I were going to live a long time instead of going to die today because I have learned much ab...more

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Dying was nothing and he had no picture of it nor fear of it in his mind. But living was a field of grain blowing in the wind on the side of a hill. L...more