Happiness is a solid and joy is a liquid.

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

If a girl looks swell when she meets you, who gives a damn if she's late? Nobody.

It's everybody, I mean. Everything everybody does is so - I don't know - not wrong, or even mean, or even stupid necessarily. But just so tiny and meaningless and - sad-making. And the worst part is, if you go bohemian or something crazy like that, you're conforming just as much only in a different way.

This is a people shooting hat," I said. "I shoot people in this hat.

The true poet has no choice of material. The material plainly chooses him, not he it.

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.