There is something about a poet which leads us to believe that he died, in many cases, as long as 20 years before his birth.

The appreciative smile, the chuckle, the soundless mirth, so important to the success of comedy, cannot be understood unless one sits among the audience and feels the warmth created by the quality of laughter that the audience takes home with it.

I am not a cat man, but a dog man, and all felines can tell this at a glance - a sharp, vindictive glance.

I never had a dog that showed a human fear of death. Death, to a dog, is the final unavoidable compulsion, the least ineluctable scent on a fearsome trail, but they like to face it alone, going out into the woods, among the leaves, if there are any leaves when their time comes, enduring without sentimental human distraction the Last Loneliness, which they are wise enough to know cannot be shared by anyone.

Two is company, four is a party, three is a crowd. One is a wanderer.

American girls often marry someone they can't stand to spite someone they can.

God bless... God damn.