Writing is like sex. First you do it for love, then you do it for your friends, and then you do it for money.

We were sitting one morning two Summers ago, Ferenc Molnár, Dr. Rudolf Kommer and I, in the little garden of a coffee-house in the Austrian Tyrol. “Your writing?” we asked him. “How do you regard it?” Languidly he readjusted the inevitable monocle to his eye. “Like a whore,” he blandly ventured. “First, I did it for my own pleasure. Then I did it for the pleasure of my friends. And now — I do it for money.” | NOTE: The Virginia Woolf Society of Great Britain has a web page called Misquotations and Misattributions, where you can find more examples (not exhaustive by any means).