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.

It is Sunday, mid-morning-Sunday in the living room, Sunday in the kitchen, Sunday in the woodshed, Sunday down the road in the village: I hear the bells, calling me to share God's grace.

A candidate could easily commit political suicide if he were to come up with an unconventional thought during a presidential tour.

I have yet to see a piece of writing, political or non-political, that does not have a slant. All writing slants the way a writer leans, and no man is born perpendicular.

A single overstatement, wherever or however it occurs, diminishes the whole, and a carefree superlative has the power to destroy, for the reader, the object of the writer's enthusiasm.

Is there anything in the universe more beautiful and protective than the simple complexity of a spider's web?

All we need is a meteorologist who has once been soaked to the skin without ill effect. No one can write knowingly of the weather who walks bent over on wet days.