Humour plays close to the big, hot fire, which is the truth, and the reader feels the heat.

There is a decivilizing bug somewhere at work; unconsciously persons of stern worth, by not resenting and resisting the small indignities of the times, are preparing themselves for the eventual acceptance of what they themselves know they don't want.

Old age is a special problem for me because I've never been able to shed the mental image I have of myself - a lad of about 19.

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

When an American family becomes separated from its toothbrushes and combs and pajamas for a few hours it considers that it has had quite an adventure.

From morning till night, sounds drift from the kitchen, most of them familiar and comforting. . . . On days when warmth is the most important need of the human heart, the kitchen is the place you can find it; it dries the wet sock, it cools the hot little brain.

I have one share in corporate Earth, and I am nervous about the management.