I Belonged In Idle Valley

He Sounded Like A Man Who Had Slept Well And Didn't Owe Too Much Money.

In Everything That Can Be Called Art There Is A Quality Of Redemption. It May Be Pure Tragedy, If It Is High Tragedy, And It May Be Pity And Irony, And It May Be The Raucous Laughter Of The Strong Man. But Down These Mean Streets A Man Must Go Who Is Not Himself Mean, Who Is Neither Tarnished Nor Afraid.

Dead Men Are Heavier Than Broken Hearts.

What Greater Prestige Can A Man Like Me (not Too Gifted, But Very Understanding) Have Than To Have Taken A Cheap, Shoddy And Utterly Lost Kind Of Writing, And Have Made Of It Something That Intellectuals Claw Each Other About?

The Agent Never Receipts His Bill, Puts His Hat On And Bows Himself Out. He Stays Around Forever, Not Only For As Long As You Can Write Anything That Anyone Will Buy, But As Long As Anyone Will Buy Any Portion Of Any Right To Anything That You Ever Did Write. He Just Takes Ten Per Cent Of Your Life.