Disease has always been a much bigger killer of human beings than wars.

All fathers are invisible in daytime; daytime is ruled by mothers and fathers come out at night. Darkness brings home fathers, with their real, unspeakable power. There is more to fathers than meets the eye.

You can pretty much trace when the big individual indebtedness kicked in, and it was when the credit card became generally available.

It's in Macbeth: "The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon." I seldom have occasion to pull it out, but it's ready and waiting!

My brother and I were both teenage writers, and he was, I have to say, better than I was, but he went into science, and I went into writing.

But my dreaming self refuses to be consoled. It continues to wander, aimless, homeless, alone. It cannot be convinced of its safety by any evidence drawn from my waking life.

Waste not want not. I am not being wasted. Why do I want?