What's for dinner is the only question many husbands ask their wives, and the only one to which they care about the answer.

Few novels or plays could exist without at least one troublemaker in the group, and perhaps life couldn't either.

The death of someone we know always reminds us that we are still alive - perhaps for some purpose which we ought to re-examine.

Spring, summer, and fall fill us with hope; winter alone reminds us of the human condition.

The plague of government is senile delinquency.

The neurotic keeps minute track of his enemies; it is only his friends he is careless about.

Character is what emerges from all the little things you were too busy to do yesterday, but did anyway.