Love has had a lot of press-agenting from the oldest times; but there are higher, nobler things than love.
I shoved on a dressing-gown, and flew downstairs like a mighty, rushing wind.
Rex Stout's narrative and dialogue could not be improved, and he passes the supreme test of being rereadable. I don't know how many times I have reread the Wolfe stories, but plenty. I know exactly what is coming and how it is all going to end, but it doesn't matter. That's writing.
Whenever I have that sad, depressed feeling, I go out and kill a policeman.
Unseen in the background, Fate was quietly slipping lead into the boxing-glove.
Just another proof, of course, of what I often say - it takes all sorts to make a world.