Only power can get people into a position where they may be noble.

When a writer talks about his work, he's talking about a love affair.

To have a sense of history one must consider oneself a piece of history.

One writes to make a home for oneself, on paper, in time, in others' minds.

One writes to make a home for oneself, on paper, in time and in others' minds.

We never know how much has been missing from our lives until a true writer comes along.

Altogether beautiful in the power of its feeling. As beautiful as anything in Thoreau or Hemingway.

A classic is a book that survives the circumstances that made it possible yet alone keeps those circumstances alive.

A year after Hemingway died on the front page, Faulkner went off after a binge, as if dying was nobody's business but his own.

If we practiced medicine like we practice education, wed look for the liver on the right side and left side in alternate years.

If we practiced medicine like we practice education, we'd look for the liver on the right side and left side in alternate years.

Art changes all the time, but it never "improves." It may go down, or up, but it never improves as technology and medicine improve.

I had to admit that in his old-fashioned way O'Hara was still romantic about sex; like Scott Fitzgerald, he thought of it as an upper-class prerogative.

History has become more important than ever because of the to unprecedented ability of the historical sciences to take in man's life on earth as a whole.

What happens whenever we convert a writer into a symbol is that we lose the writer himself in all his indefeasible singularity, his particular inimitable genius.

The writer writes in order to teach himself, to understand himself, to satisfy himself; the publishing of his ideas, though it brings gratification, is a curious anticlimax.

What need had the businessman to scribble or philosophize when he dominated the imagination of his time and the frantic materialism that was his principle of existence had become the haunting central figure in contemporary life?

Modern American literature was born in protest, born in rebellion, born out of the sense of loss and indirection which was imposed upon the new generations out of the realization that the old formal culture-the "New England idea"-could no longer serve.

Is it strange, then, that in a literature so concerned with realism and with personal liberation this refusal and impoverishment of the life of the spirit have always nourished the screamers, the eccentrics, the pseudo-Whitmans, the calculating terrorists?

The conviction of tragedy that rises out of his [John Dos Passos's] work is the steady protest of a sensitive democratic conscience against the tyranny and the ugliness of society, against the failure of a complete human development under industrial capitalism.

I liked reading and working out my ideas in the midst of that endless crowd walking in and out of the (library) looking for something. I, too, was seeking fame and fortune by sitting at the end of a long golden table next to the sets of American authors on the open shelves.

Brooklyn Heights itself is a window on the port. Here, where the perspective is fixed by the towers of Manhattan and the hills of New Jersey and Staten Island, the channels running between seem fingers of the world ocean. Here one can easily embrace the suggestion, which Whitman felt so easily, that the whole American world opens out from here, north and west.

Walking I am unbound, and find that precious unity of life and imagination, that silent outgoing self, which is so easy to loose, but which a high moments seems to start up again from the deepest rhythms of my own body. How often have I had this longing for an infinite walk - of going unimpeded, until the movement of my body as I walk fell into the flight of streets under my feet - until I in my body and the world in its skin of earth were blended into a single act of knowing.

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