Liberate yourself from my vice-like grip!

Your heart, Bessie, is an autumn garage.

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.

And the old horror of being a professional writer, and the usual stench of words that goes with it, is begining to drive me out of my seat. (Buddy)

If there's one thing I hate, it's the movies. Don't even mention them to me.

The rest, with very little exaggeration, was books. Meant-to-be-picked-up books. Permanently-left-behind books. Uncertain-what-to-do-with books. But books, books. Tall cases lined three walls of the room, filled to and beyond capacity. The overflow had been piled in stacks on the floor. There was little space left for walking, and none whatever for pacing.

Sleep tight, ya morons!