It is in middles that extremes clash, where ambiguity restlessly rules.

If men do not keep on speaking terms with children, they cease to be men, and become merely machines for eating and for earning money.

The artist brings something into the world that didn't exist before, and he does it without destroying something else.

The scrape and snap of Keds on loose alley pebbles seems to catapult their voices high into the moist March air blue above the wires.

How can the planet keep turning and turning and not get so bored it explodes?

Being a famous writer is a little like being a tall dwarf. You're on the edge of normality.

Americans have been conditioned to respect newness, whatever it costs them.