Wilbur burst into tears. "I dont want to die," he moaned. "I want to stay alive, right here in my comfortable manure pile with all my friends. I want to breathe the beautiful air and lie in the beautiful sun."

A writer's style reveals something of his spirit, his habits, his capacites, his bias...it is the Self escaping into the open.

No one can write decently who is distrustful of the reader's intelligence or whose attitude is patronizing.

Books hold most of the secrets of the world, most of the thoughts that men and women have had. And when you are reading a book, you and the author are alone together-just the two of you.

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

The young writer should learn to spot them: words that at first glance seem freighted with delicious meaning, but that soon burst in the air, leaving nothing but a memory of bright sound.

When you say something, make sure you have said it. The chances of your having said it are only fair.