The despairing soul is a rebel.

Where there must be a choice, a girl will choose Daddy. Even if you are Mommy, you concede that this must be so: you remember when you were a girl, too.

That's how a thing starts out real then ends up just an idea.

The folly of war is that it can have no natural end except in the extinction an entire people.

Ideas brush past fleeting and insubstantial as moths. But I let them go, I don't want them. What I want is a voice.

Running! If there's any activity happier, more exhilarating, more nourishing to the imagination, I can't think of what it might be.

Early publication can be a dubious blessing: we all know writers who would give anything not to have published their first book, and go about trying to buy up all existing copies.