I don’t think it would have all got me quite so down if just once in a while—just once in a while—there was at least some polite little perfunctory implication that knowledge should lead to wisdom, and that if it doesn't, it's just a disgusting waste of time! But there never is! You never even hear any hints dropped on a campus that wisdom is supposed to be the goal of knowledge. You hardly ever even hear the word 'wisdom' mentioned!

As nearly as possible in the spirit of Matthew Salinger, age one, urging a luncheon companion to accept a cool lima bean, I urge my editor, mentor and (heaven help him) closest friend, William Shawn, genius domus of The New Yorker, lover of the long shot, protector of the unprolific, defender of the hopelessly flamboyant, most unreasonably modest of born great artist-editors to accept this pretty skimpy-looking book.

I ignored the flashes of lightning all around me. They either had your number on them or they didn't.

Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first one who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior.

Sex is something I really don't understand too hot.

That's the terrible part. I swear to God I'm a madman.

He said I was unequipped to meet life because I had no sense of humor.