I Think That In Order To Write

We No Longer Build Fireplaces For Physical Warmth—we Build Them For The Warmth Of The Soul; We Build Them To Dream By, To Hope By, To Home By.

A Writer's Working Hours Are His Waking Hours. He Is Working As Long As He Is Conscious And Frequently When He Isn't.

Writers Should Be Read But Not Seen. Rarely Are They A Winsome Sight.

If It's Freedom You Want, Come To Texas. No One There Tells You What To Do And How You Have To Do It.

In New York The Sky Is Bluer, And The Grass Is Greener, And The Girls Are Prettier, And The Steaks Are Thicker, And The Buildings Are Higher, And The Streets Are Wider, And The Air Is Finer, Than The Sky, Or The Grass, Or The Girls, Or The Steaks, Or The Air Of Any Place Else In The World.