New York Is Not Even A City,

I Had Killed A Man, For Money And A Woman. I Didn't Have The Money And I Didn't Have The Woman.

They Threw Me Off The Haytruck About Noon.

A Home Is Not A Museum. It Doesn't Have To Be Furnished With Picasso Paintings, Or Sheraton Suites, Or Oriental Rugs, Or Chinese Pottery. But It Does Have To Be Furnished With Things That Mean Something To You.

I Make No Conscious Effort To Be Tough, Or Hard-boiled, Or Grim, Or Any Of The Things I Am Usually Called. I Merely Try To Write As The Character Would Write, And I Never Forget That The Average Man, From The Fields, The Streets, The Bars, The Offices And Even The Gutters Of His Country, Has Acquired A Vividness Of Speech That Goes Beyond Anything I Could Invent, And That If I Stick To This Heritage, This Logos Of The American Countryside, I Shall Attain A Maximum Of Effectiveness With Very Little Effort.

You Usually Can Tell When A Writer Is Going Down Hill By The Size Of His Liquor Bill.