Until the 20th century it was generally assumed that a writer had said what he had to say in his works.

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.

Natural beauty is essentially temporary and sad, hence the impression of obscene mockery which artificial flowers give us.

What we need is progress with an escape hatch.

You cannot but learn more of the world's heft, as you take it now into your hands.

People go around mourning the death of God; it's the death of sssin that bothers me. Without ssin, people aren't people any more, they're just ssoul-less sheep.

Accent the ugly until it becomes gorgeous.