John O'Hara Quotes

I can get very depressed by a review that is unfair, unreasonable, and totally destructive ...

Our story opens in the mind of Luther L. (L for LeRoy) Fliegler, who is lying in his bed, not thinking of anything, but just aware of sounds, conscious of his own breathing, and sensitive to his own heartbeats. Lying beside him is his wife, lying on her right side and enjoying her sleep.

An artist is his own fault.

So who's perfect? ... Washington had false teeth. Franklin was nearsighted. Mussolini had syphilis. Unpleasant things have been said about Walt Whitman and Oscar Wilde. Tchaikovsky had his problems, too. And Lincoln was constipated.

Animals"

Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
when the day came fat with an apple in its mouth

it's no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned a few sharp corners

the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn't need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

I wouldn't want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of my days.

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It was now about eleven o'clock of a fine mid-September morning, with the sun warm but away from the sun a warning hint of the nippy weather to come.

On this Sunday morning in May, this girl who later was to be the cause of a sensation in New York, awoke much too early for her night before. One minute she was asleep, the next she was completely awake and dumped into despair. It was the kind of despair that she had known perhaps two thousand times before, there being 365 mornings in a calendar year.

Little old ladies of both sexes. Why do I let them bother me?

When Caroline Walker fell in love with Julian English she was a little tired of him. That was in the summer of 1926, one of the most unimportant years in the history of the United States, and the year in which Caroline Walker was sure her life had reached a pinnacle of uselessness.

In every marriage the wife has to keep her mouth shut about at least one small thing her husband does that disgusts her.

But William Dilworth English, M.D., was not thinking of the immediate punishment of his son; that was something which could be decided upon. He was not thinking of the glory of having a son who hopped freight trains. The thing that put him in the deep mood and gave him the heavy look that Julian saw on his face was that 'chip off the old block' refrain of Butch Doerflinger's. William Dilworth English was thinking of his own life, the scrupulous, notebook honesty; the penny-watching, bill-paying, self-sacrificing honesty that had been his religion after his own father's suicide. And that was his reward: a son who turned out to be like his grandfather, a thief.

But whats the use of being old if you cant be dumb?

Bing: You're a heel ... a low down rotten heel ... anything that doesn't go your way, anything that you can't have you destroy.

He stood at the table, looking down at the handkerchief case and stud box, and was afraid. Upstairs was a girl who was a person. That he loved her seemed unimportant compared to what she was. He only loved her, which really made him a lot less than a friend or an acquaintance. Other people saw her and talked to her when she was herself, her great, important self. It was wrong, this idea that you know someone better because you have shared a bed and a bathroom with her. He knew, and not another human being knew, that she cried "I" or "high" in moments of great ecstasy. He knew, he alone knew her when she let herself go, when she herself was not sure whether she was wildly gay or wildly sad, but one and the other. But that did not mean that he knew her. Far from it. It only meant that he was closer to her when he was close, but (and this was the first time the thought had come to him) maybe farther away than anyone else when he was not close. It certainly looked that way now.

...Julian believed in a thought process that if you think against a thing in advance, if you anticipate it - whether it's the fear that you're going to cut yourself when you shave, or lose your wife to another man - you've licked it. It can't happen, because things like that are known only by God. Any future thing is known only to God; and if you have a super-premonition about a thing, it'll be wrong because God is God, and is not giving away one of His major powers to Julian McHenry English.

Hot lead can be almost as effective coming from a linotype as from a firearm.

The people who want regeneration to be permanent are fanatics for the happy ending, dissatisfied with themselves and with anyone else, unrealistic men and women, anti-Christs, who were entertained by the miracles but learned nothing from Calvary.

The liquor, that is, the rye, was all about the same: most people bought drug store rye on prescriptions (the physicians who were club members saved 'scrips' for their patients), and cut it with alcohol and colored water. It was not poisonous, and it got you tight, which was all that was required of it and all that could be said for it.

A merchant in Baghdad sends his servant to the marketplace for provisions. Shortly, the servant comes home white and trembling and tells him that in the marketplace he was jostled by a woman, whom he recognized as Death, and she made a threatening gesture. Borrowing the merchant's horse, he flees at top speed to Samarra, a distance of about 75 miles (125 km), where he believes Death will not find him. The merchant then goes to the marketplace and finds Death, and asks why she made the threatening gesture. She replies, "That was not a threatening gesture, it was only a start of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Baghdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.

Men go to musicals. Women are the ones who buy the tickets for plays.

Much as I like owning a Rolls-Royce, I could do without it. What I could not do without is a typewriter, a supply of yellow second sheets and the time to put them to good use.

Book reviewers are little old ladies of both sexes.

I have work to do, and I am afraid not to do it.

They say great themes make great novels.. but what these young writers don't understand is that there is no greater theme than men and women.

Did you ever read The Cat's Revenge, by Claude Balls? Did you ever read The Passionate Russian, by E. Nawdor Titzoff? Or The Passionate Lover, by E. Roder Haggard?

I love you? Yes, I love you. Like saying I have cancer.