The champagne was dead. So it goes.

I'm so sorry - we had this cottage up in Lake Maxinkuckee, in Culver. I've thought so often of the poor Pottawattomies we took this land away from. They must have loved it so.

For a Russian to be chivalrous with an American is a spiritual impossibility, a conradiction in terms.

Out in the world I go! Muggers! Autograph hounds! Junkies! People with real jobs! Maybe an easy lay! United Nation functionaries and diplomats!

I wish you'd help me look into a more interesting problem - namely, my sanity.

There is no peace, I'm sorry to say. We find it. We lose it. We find it again. We lose it again.

Her face ... was a one-of-a-kind, a surprising variation on a familiar theme - a variation that made observers think, Yes - that would be another very nice way for people to look. What Beatrice had done with her face, actually, was what any plain girl could do. She overlaid it with dignity, suffering, intelligence, and a piquant dash of bitchiness.