I am often mad, but I would hate to be nothing but mad: and I think I would lose what little value I may have as a writer if I were to refuse, as a matter of principle, to accept the warming rays of the sun, and to report them, whenever, and if ever, they

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

Books are the door of escape from the forest.

Even now; with a thousand little voyages notched in my belt. I still feel a memorial chill on casting off.

The theme of 'Charlotte's Web' is that a pig shall be saved, and I have an idea that somewhere deep inside me there was a wish to that effect.

Not even a collapsing world looks dark to a man who is about to make his fortune.

I admire anybody who has the guts to write anything at all.