The lucky man is he who knows how much to leave to chance. by C. S. Forester

The lucky man is he who knows how much to leave to chance.

C. S. Forester

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When a man who is drinking neat gin starts talking about his moth... by C. S. Forester

When a man who is drinking neat gin starts talking about his mother he is past all argument.

mom mother drinking

A man who writes for a living does not have to go anywhere in particular, and he could rarely afford to if he wanted.

doe writing men

Novel writing wrecks homes. by C. S. Forester

Novel writing wrecks homes.

wrecks home writing

Novel writing is far and away the most exhausting work I know. by C. S. Forester

Novel writing is far and away the most exhausting work I know.

novel knows writing

I'd rather be in trouble for having done something than for not h... by C. S. Forester

I'd rather be in trouble for having done something than for not having done anything.

When I die there may be a paragraph or two in the newspapers. My name will linger in the British Museum Reading Room catalogue for a space at the head of a long list of books for which no one will ever ask.

space reading book

The work is with me when I wake up in the morning; it is with me while I eat my breakfast in bed and run through the newspaper, while I shave and bathe and dress.

bed running morning

There is no other way of writing a novel than to begin at the beg... by C. S. Forester

There is no other way of writing a novel than to begin at the beginning at to continue to the end.

ends writing way

I formed a resolution to never write a word I did not want to write; to think only of my own tastes and ideals, without a thought of those of editors or publishers.

editors writing thinking

I did not ask for objections, but for comments, or helpful suggestions. I looked for more loyalty from you, Captain Hornblower.' That made the whole argument pointless. If Leighton only wanted servile agreement there was no sense in continuing.

captains loyalty agreement

Everything was in stark and dreadful contrast with the trivial crises and counterfeit emotions of Hollywood, and I returned to England deeply moved and emotionally worn out.

hollywood england emotion

Clairvoyant, Hornblower could foresee that in a year's time, the world would hardy remember the incident. In twenty years, it would be entirely forgotten. Yet those headless corpses up there in Muzillac; those shattered redcoats; those Frenchmen caught in the four-pounder's blast of canister -- they were as dead as if it had been a day in which history had been changed.

twenties would-be years

I must be like the princess who felt the pea through seven mattre... by C. S. Forester

I must be like the princess who felt the pea through seven mattresses; each book is a pea.

seven princess book

Perhaps that suspicion of fraud enhances the flavor. by C. S. Forester

Perhaps that suspicion of fraud enhances the flavor.

fraud hype flavor

I have heard of novels started in the middle, at the end, written in patches to be joined together later, but I have never felt the slightest desire to do this.

ends together desire

A whim, a passing mood, readily induces the novelist to move hearth and home elsewhere. He can always plead work as an excuse to get him out of the clutches of bothersome hosts.

novelists home moving

I thank God daily for the good fortune of my birth, for I am certain I would have made a miserable peasant.

miserable birth thank-god

The fools ran after me and I ran after the whores, foolish though I realized such a proceeding to be.

i-realized fool stupid

Damn my eyes. Damn my soul. Glorious! by C. S. Forester

Damn my eyes. Damn my soul. Glorious!

Today is Sunday, sir," said Bush, simply. by C. S. Forester

Today is Sunday, sir," said Bush, simply.