Well,” said Stuart, “a misspelled word is an abomination in the sight of everyone.

After all, what's a life, anyway? We're born, we live a little while, we die.

I believe in dreams. People should have faith in the songs poets sing.

Thurber did not write the way a surgeon operates, he wrote the way a child skips rope, the way a mouse waltzes.

By comparison with other less hectic days, the city is unconfortable and inconvenient; but New Yorkers tempramentally do not crave comfort and convenience - if they did they would live elsewhere.

A man must have something to cling to. Without that he is as a pea vine sprawling in search of a trellis.... I was all asprawl, clinging to Beauty, which is a very restless trellis.

Sometimes a writer, like an acrobat, must try a trick that is too much for him.