Incompetents invariably make trouble for people other than themselves.

I once owned a collection of 77 novels that won the Pulitzer. The only good novel of the bunch was The Grapes of Wrath.

I don't do well with changes in my routine. I read at least three newspapers a day, for example. I'm frustrated if for some reason I can't get ahold of all three.

There isn't a thought in my head I care to be alone with for more than five minutes.

Books can accommodate the proximity of computers but it doesn't seem to work the other way around. Computers now literally drive out books from the place that should, by definition, be books' own home: the library.

Uva uvum vivendo varia fit

Yesterday's gone on down the river and you can't get it back.