I suppose life is a little like that, isn't it, a message in a bottle pitched out to sea, to be carried by the winds and the tides, washing up on the beaches we could never imagine.

A flame burns brightest just before it goes out.

I used to annoy my father by telling him how much I felt luck was with me.

that strange conflict in the American character: we pride ourselves on being the melting pot of the world but we insist on regarding most immigrants with suspicion.

The things we ignore often come back to us in our sleep.

Cars, furs, and gems were not my weaknesses.

I remember the 1940s as a time when we were united in a way known only to that generation. We belonged to a common cause-the war.