A list of authors who have made themselves most beloved and therefore, most comfortable financially, shows that it is our national joy to mistake for the first-rate, the fecund rate.

Her mind lives tidily, apart from cold and noise and pain. And bolts the door against her heart, out wailing in the rain.

Telegram to a friend who had just become a mother after a prolonged pregnancy: Good work, Mary. We all knew you had it in you.

Take me or leave me; or, as is the usual order of things, both.

I don't mind anything that's written about me, as long as it's not true.

Summer makes me drowsy. Autumn makes me sing. Winter's pretty lousy, but I hate Spring.

Vice is nice, but liquor is quicker.