The mind is like a richly woven tapestry in which the colors are distilled from the experiences of the senses, and the design drawn from the convolutions of the intellect.

Don't you loathe it when doctors use the word 'we' when it applies only and solely to yourself?

Sunday afternoons are the longest afternoons of all.

The memories of childhood have a strange shuttling quality, and areas of darkness ring the spaces of light. The memories of childhood are like clear candles in an acre of night, illuminating fixed scenes from surrounding darkness.

The most fatal thing a man can do is try to stand alone.

Nothing is so musical as the sound of pouring bourbon for the first drink on a Sunday morning. Not Bach or Schubert or any of those masters.

How can the dead be truly dead when they still live in the souls of those who are left behind?