We don't talk, we hold forth. We don't converse, we expound.

I don't suppose a writing man ever really gets rid of his old crocus-yellow neckties. Sooner or later, I think, they show up in his prose, and there isn't a hell of a lot he can do about it.

Give me a story that just makes me unreasonably vigilant. Keep me up till five only because all your stars are out, and for no other reason.

Each of his phrases was rather like a little ancient island, inundated by a miniature sea of whiskey.

If you do something too good, then, after a while, if you don't watch it, you start showing off. And then you're not as good any more.

I'm quite illiterate, but I read a lot.

Its really hard to be roommates with people if your suitcases are much better than theirs.