I will see this game of life out to its bitter end.

I hate birthdays.

I see so much more than I used to see. The effect has been to depress and sadden and hurt me terribly.

Every once in a while I feel the tremendous force of the novel. But it does not stay with me.

I need this wild life, this freedom.

I am full of fire and passion. I am not ready yet for great concentration and passion.

I will see this game of life out to its bitter end.

I love my work but do not know how I write it.

The difficulty, the ordeal, is to start.

I can write best in the silence and solitude of the night, when everyone has retired.

Men may rise on stepping stones of their dead selves to higher things.

I am tired. My arm aches. My head boils. My feet are cold. But I am not aware of any weakness.

I wrote for nearly six hours. When I stopped, the dark mood, as if by magic, had folded its cloak and gone away.

The Indian story has never been written. Maybe I am the man to do it.

I arise full of eagerness and energy, knowing well what achievement lies ahead of me.

What is writing but an expression of my own life?

I confess that reading proofs is a pleasure. It stimulates and inspires me.

What makes life worth living? Better surely, to yield to the stain of suicide blood in me and seek forgetfulness in the embrace of cold dark death.

No one connected intimately with a writer has any appreciation of his temperament, except to think him overdoing everything.

There are hours when I must force the novel out of my mind and be interested in the children.

I did not have one bad spell during writing - an unprecedented record.

Today I began the novel that I determined to be great.

I must go deeper and even stronger into my treasure mine and stint nothing of time, toil, or torture.

It was a decent New Year's, but it took a million officers to make it so.

Writing was like digging coal. I sweat blood. The spell is on me.

Love grows more tremendously full, swift, poignant, as the years multiply.

Love of man for woman - love of woman for man. That's the nature, the meaning, the best of life itself.

Work is my salvation. It changes my moods.

This motion-picture muddle had distracted me from my writing.

These critics who crucify me do not guess the littlest part of my sincerity. They must be burned in a blaze. I cannot learn from them.

Love grows more tremendously full, swift, poignant as the years multiply.

Then the wind blew cool through the pinyons on the rim. There was a sweet tang of cedar and sage on the air and that indefinable fragrance peculiar to the canyon country of Arizona.

If I fished only to capture fish my fishing trips would have ended long ago.

Love grows more tremendously full swift poignant as the years multiply.

I became hooked on the idea of being able to shoot an image and process it myself, and end up with a product.

At the end, the realization is that she had to get to a place in her life where she could drop her guard and make peace with the fact that whether she had a small amount of time, that she had to kind of live it completely through, instead of living by the rules.

All enterprises that are entered into with indiscreet zeal may be pursued with great vigor at first, but are sure to collapse in the end.

I don't write drafts. I write from the beginning to the end, and when it's finished, it's done.

Young actors often don't think of the consequences of doing nudity or sex scenes. They want the role so badly that they agree to be exploited, and then end up embarrassing family, friends, and even strangers.

They haul you up there for, you know, week after week in this kind of star chamber proceeding. Then at the end of it they say, well, we found nothing, but now it's time for special counsel.

The difference between talking on your cell phone while driving and speaking with a passenger is huge. The person on the other end of the cell phone is chattering away, oblivious.

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

The big battle at the end of DW isn't drawn from history, but it's influenced by history, certainly.

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.

I did know that the book would end with a mind-boggling trial, but I didn't know exactly how it would turn out. I like a little suspense when I am writing, too.

If he didn't fall in love he would have never come back near the end of the film. Because, what man is going to dishonor himself so that he comes back in front of the man that took a woman away from him... and warns her to save her life?

Every sentence has a truth waiting at the end of it and the writer learns how to know it when he finally gets there.

Pacifist propaganda and the resolutions of the parliamentarians encouraged such treaties, and toward the end of the nineteenth century their number had increased considerably.

Will Arnett is one of the funniest guys I know. He has seen it all and done it all and come out the other end pretty savvy and pretty strong.