I don't think he was knowable. I mean, when most people talk about knowing somebody a lot or a little, they're talking about the secrets they've been told or haven't been told. They're talking about intimate things, family things, love things," that nice old lady said to me. "Mr. Hoenikker had all those things in his life, the way every living person has to, but they weren't the main things with him.

All right - I'll tell you what you did for me: you went for happy, silly, beautiful walks with me.

How nice -- to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.

Any scientist who can't explain to an eight-year-old what he is doing is a charlatan.

Shortridge High School was an elitist high school. In a way it was a scandal because you could go there no matter where you lived, if you could get there. It was for over-achievers. It was for people who were going to college. So we were very special and we were hated for being ritzy.

Perhaps, when we remember wars, we should take off our clothes and paint ourselves blue and go on all fours all day long and grunt like pigs. That would surely be more appropriate than noble oratory and shows of flags and well-oiled guns.

This is what I find encouraging about the writing trades: ... They allow lunatics to seem saner than sane.