Old age is an excellent time for outrage. My goal is to say or do at least one outrageous thing every week.

Has there ever been an age so rife with neurotic sensibility, with that state of near shudders, or near hysteria, or near nausea, much of it induced by trifles, which used to belong to people who were at once ill-adjusted and over-civilized?

A great maxim of personal responsibility and mature achievement: "Do it yourself" is now the enthroned cliche for being occupied with nonessentials.

She ate so many clams that her stomach rose and fell with the tide.

It is one of the sublime provincialities of New York that its inhabitants lap up trivial gossip about essential nobodies they've never set eyes on, while continuing to boast that they could live somewhere for twenty years without so much as exchanging pleasantries with their neighbors across the hall.

Temperament, like liberty, is important despite how many crimes are committed in its name.

The trouble with us in America isn't that the poetry of life has turned to prose, but that it has turned to Advertising copy.