By the age of eighteen, a human has acquired enough joy and heartache to provide the food of reflection for a century.

Put the park rangers to work. Lazy scheming loafers, they've wasted too many years selling tickets at toll booths and sitting behind desks filling out charts and tables

A world without huge regions of total wilderness would be a cage; a world without lions and tigers and vultures and snakes and elk and bison would be - will be - a human zoo. A high-tech slum.

Little boys love machines; girls adore horses; grown-up men and women like to walk.

I've wrecked and ravaged half my life in the pursuit of women, and I suffer the pangs of about seventeen regrets -- the seventeen who got away.

Most academic economists know nothing of economy. In fact, they know little of anything.

My notion of a great novel is something like a five-hundred-page shaggy-dog story, with only the punch line omitted.