Confession is good for the soul only in the sense that a tweed coat is good for dandruff - it is a palliative rather than a remedy.

When I see a paragraph shrinking under my eyes like a strip of bacon in a skillet, I know I'm on the right track.

The tuba is certainly the most intestinal of instruments, the very lower bowel of music.

The satirist shoots to kill while the humorist brings his prey back alive and eventually releases him again for another chance.

Exercise is an unnatural act.

I was thinking that we all learn by experience, but some of us have to go to summer school.

I made a tentative conclusion. It seemed from all of this that uppermost among human joys is the negative one of restoration: not going to the stars, but learning that one may stay where one is.