The first breathe of adultery is the freest.

I love my government not least for the extent to which it leaves me alone.

I want to write books that unlock the traffic jam in everybody's head.

I'm not against TV; I don't go on the morning talk shows because I'm not invited. If I was, I might go.

What would men be without women? Scarce, sir, mighty scarce. Mark Twain Women are an alien race set down among us.

I assume my stance, and take back the club, low, slowly; at the top, my eyes fog over, and my joints dip and swirl like barn swallows, I swing. There is a fruitless commotion of dust and rubber at my feet. "Smothered it," I say promptly. After enough lessons the terminology becomes second nature.

Days, pale slices between nights, they blend, not exactly alike, transparencies so lightly tinted that only stacked all together do they darken to a fatal shade.