Real literature, like travel, is always a surprise.

We say something every morning when we decide how to dress.

America has a history of political isolation and economic self-sufficiency; its citizens have tended to regard the rest of the world as a disaster area from which lucky or pushy people emigrate to the Promised Land.

Other wars end eventually in victory, defeat or exhaustion, but the war between men and women goes on forever.

With a pencil and paper, I could revise the world.

As one went to Europe to see the living past, so one must visit Southern California to observe the future.

Many Americans think of the rest of the world as a kind of Disneyland, a showplace for quaint fauna, flora and artifacts. They dress for travel in cheap, comfortable, childish clothes, as if they were going to the zoo and would not be seen by anyone except the animals.