The worst thing in the world is a bitter woman. That's one thing about your mother, she's never been bitter.

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

It is not enough for a story to flow. It has to kind of trickle and glint as it crosses over the stones of the bare facts.

It is not difficult to deceive the first time, for the deceived possesses no antibodies; unvaccinated by suspicion, she overlooks lateness, accepts absurd excuses, permits the flimsiest patching to repair great rents in the quotidian.

The illusion is an agreement between the reader and writer that this [story] will be like life. The emotional temperature drops when you have footnotes.

Being naked approaches being revolutionary; going barefoot is mere populism.

It’s spring! Farewell To chills and colds! The blushing, girlish World unfolds Each flower, leaf And blade of sod— Small letters sent To her from God.