We Can Only Write Well

We Are Ruled By Chance But Never Have Enough Patience To Accept Its Despotism.

The Ruin Of The Human Heart Is Self-interest, Which The American Merchant Calls Self-service. We Have Become A Self-service Populace, And All Our Specious Comforts -the Automatic Elevator, The Escalator, The Cafeteria -are Depriving Us Of Volition And Moral And Physical Energy.

Everything Ultimately Fails, For We Die, And That Is Either The Penultimate Failure Or Our Most Enigmatical Achievement.

Nothing In Our Times Has Become So Unattractive As Virtue.

What Has A Writer To Be Bombastic About? Whatever Good A Man May Write Is The Consequence Of Accident, Luck, Or Surprise, And Nobody Is More Surprised Than An Honest Writer When He Makes A Good Phrase Or Says Something Truthful.