Babbitt knew that in this place of death Paul was already dead. And as he pondered on the train home something in his own self seemed to have died: a loyal and vigorous faith in the goodness of the world, a fear of public disfavor, a pride in success.
Thus it came to him merely to run away was folly, because he could never run away from himself.
The men leaned back on their heels, put their hands in their trousers-pockets, and proclaimed their views with the booming profundity of a prosperous male repeating a thoroughly hackneyed statement about a matter of which he knows nothing whatever.
To the connoisseur of scenes, nothing is more enjoyable than a thorough, melodramatic, egoistic humility.
The author says one character’s definition of a classic is any book he’d heard of before he was thirty.
On the walk, like shredded lovely flesh, were the petals of the last gallant rose.
Day on day he waited. So much of a revolution for so many people is nothing but waiting. That is one reason why tourists rarely see anything but contentment in a crushed population. Waiting, and its brother death, seem so contented.
The Wonderlust – probably it’s a worse affliction than the Wanderlust.
When fascism comes to the United States it will be wrapped in the American flag and will claim the name of 100-percent Americanism.
It is impossible to discourage the real writers – they don’t give a damn what you say, they’re going to write.
I must say I’m not very fond of oratory that’s so full of energy it hasn’t any room for facts.
Intellectually I know that America is no better than any other country; emotionally I know she is better than every other country.
Sleep with me sleep with my dogs-.
Writers kid themselves-about themselves and other people. Take the talk about writing methods. Writing is just work-there’s no secret. If you dictate or use a pen or type with your toes-it is just work.
Winter is not a season, it’s an occupation.
What is love? It is the morning and the evening star.
Under a tyranny, most friends are a liability. One quarter of them turn “reasonable” and become your enemies, one quarter are afraid to speak, and one quarter are killed and you die with them. But the blessed final quarter keep you alive.
We’d get sick on too many cookies, but ever so much sicker on no cookies at all.
Every man is a king so long as he has someone to look down on.