There is indeed a heaven on this earth, a heaven which we inhabit when we read a good book.

New York, the nation's thyroid gland.

Truth and Beauty (perhaps Keats was wrong in identifying them: perhaps they have the relation of Wit and Humour, or Rain and Rainbow) are of interest only to hungry people. There are several kinds of hunger. If Socrates, Spinoza, and Santayana had had free access to a midnight icebox we would never have heard of them. Shall I be ashamed of my little mewing truths?... I ask to be forgiven: they are such tiny ones.

Why do they put the Gideon Bibles only in the bedrooms, where it's usually too late...?

Beware of the conversationalist who adds "in other words." He is merely starting afresh.

The little Plumpuppets are fairies of beds; They have nothing to do but watch sleepyheads; They turn down the sheets and they tuck you in tight, And dance on your pillow to wish you good night!

My theology, briefly, is that the universe was dictated but not signed.