We are the sum of all our parts.

Thomas Wolfe

Thomas Wolfe

Profession: Novelist
Nationality: American

Some suggestions for you :

Make your mistakes, take your chances, look silly, but keep on going. Don't freeze up.

If you want to write, start writing now in your own home town and write every day as hard as you can; do not think you have to go to Paris and wait for inspiration to strike.

We do not want to be told what we know. We do not want to call things by their names, although we're willing to call one another bad ones. We call meanness nobility and hatred honor. The way to make yourself a hero is to make me out a scoundrel. You won't admit that either, but it's true.

Only the dead know Brooklyn.

They clung together in that bright moment of wonder, there on the magic island, where the world was quiet, believing all they said. And who shall say—whatever disenchantment follows—that we ever forget magic, or that we can ever betray, on this leaden earth, the apple-tree, the singing, and the gold?

McGuire's meaty shoulders recoiled burlily as if from the cold shock of water.

Culture is the arts elevated to a set of beliefs.

Publishing is a very mysterious business. It is hard to predict what kind of sale or reception a book will have, and advertising seems to do very little good.

Each moment is the fruit of forty thousand years.

A sect, incidentally, is a religion with no political power.

Not even the most powerful organs of the press, including Time, Newsweek, and The New York Times, can discover a new artist or certify his work and make it stick. They can only bring you the scores.

You have reached the pinnacle of success as soon as you become uninterested in money, compliments, or publicity.

The thought of these vast stacks of books would drive him mad: the more he read, the less he seemed to know — the greater the number of the books he read, the greater the immense uncountable number of those which he could never read would seem to be…. The thought that other books were waiting for him tore at his heart forever.

Finally, only thirty or forty million years before, our earliest ancestors had crawled out of the primeval slime; and then, no doubt, finding the change unpleasant, crawled back in again.