I used to think she was quite intelligent , in my stupidity. The reason I did was because she knew quite a lot about the theater and plays and literature and all that stuff. If somebody knows quite a lot about all those things, it takes you quite a while to find out whether they're really stupid or not.

I asked him what, if anything, got him down about teaching. He said he didn't think that anything about it got him exactly down, but there was one thing, he thought, that frightened him: reading the pencilled notations in the margins of books in the college library.

I’m not going to bed after all. Somebody around here hath murdered sleep. Good for him.

I don't exactly know what I mean by that, but I mean it.

I just hope that one day - preferably when we’re both blind drunk - we can talk about it.

She said she knew she was able to fly because when she came down she always had dust on her fingers from touching the light bulbs.

I mean they don't seem able to love us just the way we are. They don't seem able to love us unless they can keep changing us a little bit. They love their reasons for loving us almost as much as they love us, and most of the time more.