Oh no. I split my time between Paris and New York. They're the only places to really live.

But writers and their woes: they couldn't be parted. Not for anything.

Children, Hadley thinks to herself, children are more civilised than this gang on the sauce.

She kissed him but he didn't seem to recognize it.

The hangover: such a cure, she thinks, for overthinking.

Talents too many, not enough of any.

The longer I don't write, the more I hurt.

I want to be a good man, a good writer.""Be one or the other, Ernest, not both.

No man should be asked to live with so much sadness, and with so little promise of relief.

Ernest chose to go, she finally thinks, watching the fire turn the papers black. He loved her but he could not live anymore.

Martha thanks Sylvia, gesturing with the book. "Just remember not to try to hard with understanding it, " Sylvia says. "Like people, they're best not to be too thoroughly understood.

Don’t focus on miracles, believe and be strong in eternal virtues like miracle.

What happened yesterday was obviously a mistake, and it will never be spoken of again. Goodbye forever.

Make a habit of dominating the listening, and let the prospect dominate the talking.

Tomorrow you will say Donald Trump wants to get along with Russia, this is terrible! It's not terrible. It's good.

We are doomed to coexist.

The focus of education should not be on suppressive information but on kindling the thirst for knowing.

In its narrowest acceptation, order means obedience. A government is said to preserve order if it succeeds in getting itself obeyed.

Hatred is the ballast of the rock which lies upon our necks and underfoot.

It is the fault of our rhetoric that we cannot strongly state one fact without seeming to belie some other.

Democracy is fatal for the arts; it leads only to chaos or the achievement of new and lower common denominators of quality.