The Summer had died peacefully in its sleep, and Autumn, as soft-spoken executrix, was locking life up safely until Spring came to claim it.

There was no immunity to cuckoo ideas on Earth.

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?

We are here for no purpose, unless we can invent one.

I'm not a drug salesman. I'm a writer." "What makes you think a writer isn't a drug salesman?

People are lying all the time as to what a murderous nation we are. So let it be known. We're behaving abominably. It's like having a relative go absolutely nuts. Somebody has to say, "I think Uncle Charlie's off his rocker." We are behaving in a bizarre manner.

Plato says that the unexamined life is not worth living. But what if the examined life turns out to be a clunker as well?