One Cannot But Mistrust A Prospect Of

Writing Is Like Prostitution. First You Do It For Love, And Then For A Few Close Friends, And Then For Money.

The Only People Who Can Be Excused For Letting A Bad Book Loose On The World Are The Poor Devils Who Have To Write For A Living.

What! Would You Make No Distinction Between Hypocrisy And Devotion? Would You Give Them The Same Names, And Respect The Mask As You Do The Face? Would You Equate Artifice And Sincerity? Confound Appearance With Truth? Regard The Phantom As The Very Person? Value Counterfeit As Cash?

The More Powerful The Obstacle, The More Glory We Have In Overcoming It; And The Difficulties With Which We Are Met Are The Maids Of Honor Which Set Off Virtue.

Man, I Can Assure You, Is A Nasty Creature.