If sometimes there seems to be a sort of sameness of sound in The New Yorker, it probably can be traced to the magazine's copydesk, which is a marvelous fortress of grammatical exactitude and stylish convention.

Humor is like a frog. You can dissect it to see how it works, but by then, it's dead.

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

I have always felt that the first duty of a writer was to ascend - to make flights, carrying others along if you can manage it. To do this takes courage, even a certain conceit.

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.

The world is full of people who have never, since childhood, met an open doorway with an open mind.

Extreme cold when it first arrives seems to generate cheerfulness and sociability. For a few hours all life's dubious problems are dropped in favor of the clear and congenial task of keeping alive.