I love being a writer. What I can't stand is the paperwork.

The trouble with treating people as equals is that the first thing you know they may be doing the same thing to you.

I can still hear my mother wailing over some new kitchen crisis, "Oh God," and my father answering cozily from the silo, "Were you calling me, dear?

Gluttony is an emotional escape, a sign something is eating us.

When I can no longer bear to think of the victims of broken homes, I begin to think of the victims of intact ones.

How do you expect mankind to be happy in pairs when it is miserable separately?

Murals in restaurants are on a par with the food in museums.