Literature doesn’t exactly have a strong mental-health track record.

Sometimes when someone tells a ridiculous lie, it is best to ignore it entirely.

Death is something you cannot escape, such as death, or a cheesecake that has curdled, both of which always turn up sooner later.

I am heartbroken, but I have been heartbroken before, and this might be the best for which I can hope.

The Violins waltzed. The Cellos and Basses provided accompaniment. The Violas mourned their fate, while the Concertmaster showed off. The Flutes did bird imitations…repeatedly, and the reed instruments had the good taste to admire my jacket. The Trumpets held a parade in honor of our great nation, while the French Horns waxed nostalgic about something or other. The Trombones had too much to drink. The Percussion beat the band, and the Tuba stayed home playing cards with his landlady, the Harp, taking sips of warm milk a blue little cup. “But the Composer is still dead.

Members of your family might say they are working hard all day long, while you are off at school or clarinet lessons, but the only way to know this for sure is to follow them at a discreet distance.

There are some people who believe that home is where one hangs one's hat, but these people tend to live in closets and on little pegs.