Homo Americanus is going to go on speaking and writing the way he always has, no matter what dictionary he owns.

The trouble with God isn't that He so seldom makes Himself known to us... He's holding you and me and everybody else by the scruff of the neck practically _constantly... Contentedly adrift in the cosmos, were you?... That is a perfect description of a non-epiphany, that rarest of moments, when God Almighty lets go of the scruff of your neck and lets you be human for a little while.

We're not too young for love, just too young for about everything there is that goes with love.

One of the few good things about modern times: If you die horribly on television, you will not have died in vain. You will have entertained us.

You can't fight progress. The best you can do is ignore it, until it finally takes your livelihood and self-respect away.

Writers can treat their mental illnesses every day.

I have had all I can stand of not taking myself seriously.