There are thirty-two ways to write a story, and I’ve used every one, but there is only one plot – things are not as they seem.

I found out long ago that the place where the law is apt to be abused the most is right around a courthouse.

There are things that have to be forgotten if you want to go on living.

I told her the world was full of nice people. I'd have hated to try to prove it to her, but I said it, anyway.

I'd been chasing females all my life, not paying no mind to the fact that whatever's got tail at one end has teeth at the other, and now I was getting chomped.

Dad always said that he had enough trouble sorting the fiction out of so-called facts, without reading fiction. He always said that science was already too muddled without trying to make it jibe with religion. He said those things, but he also said that science itself could be a religion, that a broad mind was always in danger of becoming narrow.

Then he laughed and she laughed. And quivering with the movement of the train, the dead man seemed to laugh too.