It reminds me of a string of wet sponges; it reminds me of tattered washing on the line; it reminds me of stale bean soup, of college yells, of dogs barking idiotically through endless nights. It is so bad that a sort of grandeur creeps into it. It drags itself up out of the dark abyss of pish and crawls insanely up the topmost pinnacle of posh. It is rumble and bumble. It is flap and doodle. It is balder and dash.

The way to hold a husband is to keep him a little jealous; the way to lose him is to keep him a little more jealous.

The instant I reach Heaven, I'm going to speak to God very sharply.

Henry James would have been vastly improved as a novelist by a few whiffs of the Chicago stockyard.

The Public ... demands certainties ... But there are not certainties

What fetched me instantly (and thousands of other newcomers with me) was the subtle but unmistakable sense of escape from the United States.

The war on privilege will never end. Its next grat campaign will be against the special privileges of the underprivileged.