Never hurry and never worry!

You're terrific as far as I am concerned.

Genius is more often found in a cracked pot than in a whole one.

Commas in The New Yorker fall with the precision of knives in a circus act, outlining the victim.

The city is like poetry; it compresses all life, all races and breeds, into a small island and adds music and the accompaniment of internal engines.

The vision of milk and honey, it comes and goes. But the odor of cooking goes on forever.

The circus comes as close to being the world in microcosm as anything I know; in a way, it puts all the rest of show business in the shade.