A newspaper, as I'm sure you know, is a collection of supposedly true stories written down by writers who either saw them happen or talked to people who did. These writers are called journalists, and like telephone operators, butchers, ballerinas, and people who clean up after horses, journalists can sometimes make mistakes.

I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the sperm whale, and the sperm whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms.

I love no one but you, I have discovered, but you are far away and I am here alone. Then this is my life and maybe, however unlikely, I'll find my way back there. Or maybe, one day, I'll settle for second best. And on that same day, hell will freeze over, the sun will burn out and the stars will fall from the sky.

I go to bed early and rise late and feel as if I have hardly slept, probably because I have been reading almost the entire time.

Everyone tells you it's all right to cry, but not enough people say it's all right if you don't want people to know.

Never look a gift lion in the mouth.

There is only laughing across the land as the car moves you along, on your way someplace with love in the car.