We cannot, in a moment, get rid of habits of a lifetime.
Blood is that fragile scarlet tree we carry within us.
In reality, killing time is only the name for another of the multifarious ways by which Time kills us.
The artist, like the idiot or clown, sits on the edge of the world, and a push may send him over it.
A golf course outside a big town serves an excellent purpose in that it segregates, as though a concentration camp, all the idle and idiot well-to-do.
The only difference between an artist and a lunatic is, perhaps, that the artist has the restraint or courtesy to conceal the intensity of his obsession from all except those similarly afflicted.
For Poetry is the wisdom of the blood,That scarlet tree within, which has the powerTo make dull words bud forth and burst in flower.
At Ucross I learned that I am capable of focusing deeply for long periods of time. I love to write. I don't think I would have said that before this trip.
If you're honest with yourself, you're going to find out whether you truly love America, or whether your primary allegiance is to the Republican party.
Sneezes. . . always sound much louder to the sneezer than to the hearers. It is an acoustical peculiarity.
Whenever we would prepare the mind by a forcible appeal, an opening quotation is a symphony preluding on the chords whose tones we are about to harmonize.