Humor is, I think, the subtlest and chanciest of literary forms. It is surely not accidental that there are a thousand novelists, essayists, poets or journalists for each humorist. It is a long, long time between James Thurbers.

Thinking is harder work than hard work.

Everyone, in some small sacred sanctuary of the self, is nuts.

I never cease being dumbfounded by the unbelievable things people believe.

It is not that which is beautiful that pleases us, but that which pleases is is called beautiful.

The writer wants to be understood much more than he wants to be respected or praised or even loved. And that, perhaps, is what makes him different from others.

Where was it ever promised us that life on this earth can ever be easy, free from conflict and uncertainty, devoid of anguish and wonder and pain? … The purpose of life is to matter, to be productive, to have it make some difference that you lived at all.