I don't believe the writer should know too much where he's going. If he does, he runs into old man blueprint—old man propaganda.

I was seized by the stern hand of Compulsion, that dark, unreasonable Urge that impels women to clean house in the middle of the night.

These are the days of bootleg love.

It was Lisa, aged five, whose mother asked her to thank my wife for the peas we had sent them from our garden. 'I thought the peas were awful, I wish you and Mrs. Thurber were dead, and I hate trees,' said Lisa.

Muggs was always sorry, Mother said, when he bit someone, but we could never understand how she figured this out. He didn't act sorry.

The wit makes fun of other persons; the satirist makes fun of the world; the humorist makes fun of himself.

The paths of glory at least lead to the Grave, but the paths of duty may not get you Anywhere.