All modern American literature comes from one book by Mark Twain called Huckleberry Finn. American writing comes from that. There was nothing before. There has been nothing as good since.

In literature, as in love, we are astonished at the choice made by other people.

The liveliness of literature lies in its exceptionality, in being the individual, idiosyncratic vision of one human being, in which, to our delight and great surprise, we may find our own vision reflected.

There is no robber worse than a bad book.

That is a very good question. I don't know the answer. But can you tell me the name of a classical Greek shoemaker?

The existence of good bad literature - the fact that one can be amused or excited or even moved by a book that one's intellect simply refuses to take seriously - is a reminder that art is not the same thing as cerebration.

Oh literature, oh the glorious Art, how it preys upon the marrow in our bones. It scoops the stuffing out of us, and chucks us aside. Alas!

Leisure without literature is death and burial alive.

Literature is a toil and a snare, a curse that bites deep.

With a pen in my hand I have successfully stormed bulwarks from which others armed with sword and excommunication have been repulsed.