We stand or fall by television.

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

Whatever else an American believes or disbelieves about himself, he is absolutely sure he has a sense of humor.

In a sense the world dies every time a writer dies, because, if he is any good, he has been a wet nurse to humanity during his entire existence and has held earth close around him, like the little obstetrical toad that goes about with a cluster of eggs attached to his legs.

Life's accumulation is more discouraging than life itself, when stirred up.

Fern was up at daylight, trying to rid the world of injustice. As a result, she now has a pig. A small one to be sure, but nevertheless a pig. It just shows what can happen if a person gets out of bed promptly.

Although there is no substitute for merit in writing, clarity comes closest to being one.