Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself.
Writing is both mask and unveiling.
You write to communicate to the hearts and minds of others what’s burning inside you. And we edit to let the fire show through the smoke.
There are men that will make you books, and turn them loose into the world, with as much dispatch as they would do a dish of fritters.
If you want to get rich from writing, write the sort of thing that’s read by persons who move their lips when they’re reading to themselves.
Publication – is the auction of the Mind of Man.
Every word born of an inner necessity — writing must never be anything else.
The best time for planning a book is while you’re doing the dishes.
Every creator painfully experiences the chasm between his inner vision and its ultimate expression. The chasm is never completely bridged. We all have the conviction, perhaps illusory, that we have much more to say than appears on the paper.
The process of writing has something infinite about it. Even though it is interrupted each night, it is one single notation.