There are some circles in America where it seems to be more socially acceptable to carry a hand-gun than a packet of cigarettes.

I yield to no one in my admiration for the office as a social center, but it's no place actually to get any work done.

One reason you are stricken when your parents die is that the audience you've been aiming at all your life - shocking it, pleasing it - has suddenly left the theater.

In hell they will bore you, in heaven you will bore them.

It beats me how Freud could say "What do women want?" as if we all must want the same thing.

I suppose we all share this pipe-dream of being able to reach out a hand and find anything at will; what is amazing is that we think that good filing could somehow make it comes true. On the contrary: putting a letter into a filing system is like releasing your ferret in the Hampton Court maze.

Find out what you like doing best, and get someone to pay you for it.