I am deep in my willed habits. From the outside, I suppose I look like an unoccupied house with one unconvincing night-light left on. Any burglar could look through my curtains and conclude I am empty. But he would be mistaken. Under that one light unstirred by movement or shadows there is a man at work, and as long as I am at work I am not a candidate for Menlo Park, or that terminal facility they cynically call a convalescent hospital, or a pine box. My habits and the unchanging season sustain me. Evil is what questions and disrupts.

If life throws you a few bad notes or vibrations, don't let them interrupt or alter your song.

One should cultivate good habits of memory, for it is capable of making existence a Paradise or an Inferno.

Cussing like a commoner wasn't something I was tested on. I picked that habit up outside of high school.

Writers perform the so-called counterfactual thinking all the time. All the time. For most people, counterfactual thingking is a habit, but for writers, it is a necessity

The value of a moment is immeasurable. The power of just ONE moment can propel you to success and happiness or chain you to failure and misery.