I guess there are never enough books.

I'll want to hear,' Samuel said. 'I eat stories like grapes.

You stay out here a little while, an' if you smell any roses, you come let me smell, too.

It is the nature of a person as he/she grows older to protest against change, particularly changes for the better.

We only have one story. All novels, all poetry are built on the never-ending contest in ourselves of good and evil.

My wife, my Mary, goes to her sleep the way you would close the door of a closet. So many times I have watched her with envy. Her lovely body squirms a moment as though she fitted herself into a cocoon. She sighs once and at the end of it her eyes close and her lips, untroubled, fall into that wise and remote smile of the Ancient Greek gods. She smiles all night in her sleep, her breath purrs in her throat, not a snore, a kitten's purr... She loves to sleep and sleep welcomes her.

One can't be happy as I have been for very long. There's a law against it. I have worked hard and enjoyed my work and it is the punishment of man to hate his work. Sooner or later I will have work that I hate.