I am not impressed by the Ivy League establishments. Of course they graduate the best -- it's all they'll take, leaving to others the problem of educating the country. They will give you an education the way the banks will give you money -- provided you can prove to their satisfaction that you don't need it.

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

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

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

The writer can only explore the inner space of his characters by perceptively navigating his own.

What baffles me is the comfort people find in the idea that somebody dealt this mess. Blind and meaningless chance seems to me so much more congenial - or at least less horrible. Prove to me that there is a God and I will really begin to despair.