He had a picture in his mind of Studs Lonigan courageously telling life and the world to stick itself up it’s old tomato.

There was a drugged sanctimoniousness about the sappy-looking birds seated in the lobby. Studs felt that there wasn’t a man or a regular guy among them.

He was still where he had always been. Just hoping.

So long, Lee. Give our regards to the Kaiser. And tell him there’s a few boys on 58th Street who’ll throw a party for him if he’ll drop around.

Life was hard on mothers; but then, they just didn’t understand.

He took a meditative puff on his stogy, and informed himself that time was a funny thing. Old Man Time just walked along, and he didn’t even blow a How-do-you-do through his whiskers. He just walked on past you. Things just change.

There’s one good kind of writer – a dead one.

If you let conditions stop you from working, they’ll always stop you.

Neither man nor God is going to tell me what to write.

Studs Lonigan, on the verge of fifteen, and wearing his first suit of long trousers, stood in the bathroom with a Sweet Caporal pasted on his mug.