And what do the birds say? All there is to say about a massacre, things like "Poo-tee-weet?

There is no beginning, no middle, no end, no suspense, no moral, no causes, no effects. What we love in our books are the depths of many marvelous moments seen all at one time.

There is nothing like death to say what is always such an artificial thing to say: The End.

And a step backward, after making a wrong turn, is a step in the right direction.

I really wonder what gives us the right to wreck this poor planet of ours.

Don't you think that's the main reason people find [writing] so difficult? If they can write complete sentences and can use a dictionary, isn't that the only reason they find writing hard: they don't know or care about anything?

Smoking is the only honorable form of suicide.