There is no complete life. There are only fragments. We are born to have nothing, to have it pour through our hands.… — James Salter Copy Share Image
“There is no complete life. There are only fragments. We are born to have nothing, to have it pour through our hands.” — James Salter Copy Share Image
“Certain things I remember exactly as they were. They are merely discolored a bit by time, like coins in the pocket of… — James Salter Copy Share Image
The myriad past, it enters us and disappears. Except that within it, somewhere, like diamonds, exist the fragments that refuse to be… — James Salter Copy Share Image
I write down portions, maybe fragments, and perhaps an imperfect view of what Im hoping to write. Out of that, I keep… — James Salter Copy Share Image
It seems to me that literature is giving way a little bit to the immediacy of other diversions, other forms of entertainment. What will… — James Salter Copy Share
Women fall in love when they get to know you. Men are just the opposite. When they finally know you they're ready to leave — James Salter Copy Share
I write in longhand. I am accustomed to that proximity, that feel of writing. Then I sit down and type. — James Salter Copy Share
A writer writes a book. People read it. You don't know what they're reading, really. You read a review and think, "That is so… — James Salter Copy Share
“Strauss’s, for instance, which begins in the heavens. The artist doesn’t ascend to glory, he appears in it, he already has it and the… — James Salter Copy Share
Normally, what you’re envious of is a book, not a writer: standards, ideas, levels … almost nonexistent things. — James Salter Copy Share
Sometimes I write with a particular person in mind. I think it's fair to say that I write for a perceptive reader. You have… — James Salter Copy Share
Lots of scripts are written and not made, even scripts that people want to make. — James Salter Copy Share
I'd given up everything to be a writer, and if I didn't then go on to do that - to write - then I… — James Salter Copy Share
“Dean is still asleep. His clothes are strewn about. The shutters are closed. He never dreams. He’s like a dead musician, like a spent… — James Salter Copy Share
There came a time when I felt I was not going to be satisfied with life unless I could write. — James Salter Copy Share
