How circumstantial reality is! Facts are like individual letters, with their spikes and loops and thorns, that make up words: eventually they hurt our eyes, and we long to take a bath, to rake the lawn, to look at the sea.

Being a divorcee in a small town is a little like playing Monopoly; eventually you land on all the properties.

Money is like water in a leaky bucket: no sooner there, it begins to drip.

America is a vast conspiracy to make you happy.

Fenway Park, in Boston, is a lyric little bandbox of a ballpark. Everything is painted green and seems in curiously sharp focus, like the inside of an old-fashioned peeping-type Easter egg.

That a marriage ends is less than ideal; but all things end under heaven, and if temporality is held to be invalidating, then nothing real succeeds.

A healthy male adult bore consumes each year one and a half times his own weight in other people's patience.