No nerve, hey? Not half a man!... Buster Jack, why don't you finish game? Make up for your low-down tricks. At the last try to be worthy of your dad. In his day he was a real man.... Let him have the consolation that you faced Hell-Bent Wade an' died in your boots!
These critics who crucify me do not guess the littlest part of my sincerity. They must be burned in a blaze. I cannot learn from them.
I will see this game of life out to its bitter end
No one connected intimately with a writer has any appreciation of his temperament, except to think him overdoing everything.
This motion-picture muddle had distracted me from my writing.
I wrote for nearly six hours. When I stopped, the dark mood, as if by magic, had folded its cloak and gone away.
People live for the dream in their hearts. And I have yet to know anyone who has not some secret dream, some hope, however dim, some storied wall to look at in the dusk, some painted window leading to the soul.
Today I began the novel that I determined to be great.
If I fished only to capture fish, my fishing trips would have ended long ago.
Pride would never be her ally.
We'll use a signal I have tried and found far-reaching and easy to yell. Waa-hoo!
Instantly a thick blackness seemed to enfold her and silence as of a dead world settled down upon her. Drowsy as she was she could not close her eyes nor refrain from listening. Darkness and silence were tangible things. She felt them. And they seemed suddenly potent with magic charm to still the tumult of her, to sooth and rest, to create thought she had never thought before. Rest was more than selfish indulgence. Loneliness was necessary to gain conciseness of the soul.
Realism is death to me. I cannot stand life as it is.
What is writing but an expression of my own life?
It was a decent New Year's, but it took a million officers to make it so.
Recipe For Greatness - To bear up under loss; To fight the bitterness of defeat and the weakness of grief; To be victor over anger; To smile when tears are close; To resist disease and evil men and base instincts; To hate hate and to love love; To go on when it would seen good to die; To look up with unquenchable faith in something ever more about to be. That is what any man can do, and be great.
What makes life worth living? Better surely, to yield to the stain of suicide blood in me and seek forgetfulness in the embrace of cold dark death.
It was the elision of the weaker element--the survival of the fittest; and some, indeed very many, mothers must lose their sons that way.
Rustlers, cattle, foremen, sheriffs, and Heaven only knows what, replied Hettie, distractedly.
What's all the row over at Ben's? [Mrs. Ide] inquired, placidly, from her comfortable chair.
Jealousy is an unjust and stifling thing.
Shut off your wind, Jack! And you, too, Blaze! I didn't want you fellows to come here. But as you would come, you've got to shut up. This is my business.
When I envied a man's spurs then they were indeed worth coveting.
Late in June the vast northwestern desert of wheat began to take on a tinge of gold, lending an austere beauty to that endless, rolling, smooth world of treeless hills, where miles of fallow ground and miles of waving grain sloped up to the far-separated homes of the heroic men who had conquered over sage and sand.
So it was in him, then ? an inherited fighting instinct, a driving intensity to kill.