And what is literature, Rabo," he said, "but an insider's newsletter about affairs relating to molecules, of no importance to anything in the universe but a few molecules who have the disease called 'thought'.

Here is the solution to the American drug problem suggested a couple years back by the wife of our President: "Just say no.

You know what truth is? [...] It's some crazy thing my neighbor believes. If I want to make friends with him, I ask him what he believes. He tells me, and I say, "Yeah, yeah - ain't it the truth?

What do men want? They want a lot of pals, and they wish that people wouldn't get so mad at them.

Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.

History is merely a list of surprises... It can only prepare us to be surprised yet again.

If I were a younger man, I would write a history of human stupidity; and I would climb to the top of Mount McCabe and lie down on my back with my history for a pillow; and I would take from the ground some of the blue-white poison that makes statues of men; and I would make a statue of myself, lying on my back, grinning horribly, and thumbing my nose at You Know Who.