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.

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.

We all respect sincerity in our friends and acquaintances, but Hollywood is willing to pay for it.

Without feeling abashed by my ignorance, I confess that I am absolutely unable to say. In the absence of an appearance of learning, my answer has at least one merit, that of perfect sincerity.

What is the thing that Hollywood demands most? Sincerity. No place in the world will pay such a high price for this admirable trait.

You can take all the sincerity in Hollywood, place it in the navel of a fruit fly and still have room enough for three caraway seeds and a producer's heart.

For a creative writer possession of the "truth" is less important than emotional sincerity.

The secret of success is sincerity.

My pessimism goes to the point of suspecting the sincerity of the pessimists.

Intelligent analysis of the composer's intention and strict adherence to it automatically ensures sincerity.

Sincerity makes the very least person to be of more value than the most talented hypocrite.

We ought to see far enough into a hypocrite to see even his sincerity.

Sincerity and competence is a strong combination. In politics, it is everything.

However greatly we distrust the sincerity of those we converse with, yet still we think they tell more truth to us than to anyone else.

A friend should be one in whose understanding and virtue we can equally confide, and whose opinion we can value at once for its justness and its sincerity.

On the justice of the cause of Prince Edouard, adding insurances of greatest sincerity to help it and support it and give him on all occasions of the marks of the same feelings as I have for the King his father.

The egoism which enters into our theories does not affect their sincerity; rather, the more our egoism is satisfied, the more robust is our belief.