Murals in restaurants are on a par with the food in museums.
Words fashioned with somewhat over precise diction are like shapes turned out by a cookie cutter.
The bonds of matrimony are like any other bonds - they mature slowly.
I wondered whether any woman could be happy with a man who says 'folderol'.
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.
I tried to write worse but it was no good; my generalizations came out as before, each more exquisite than the last. I grew discouraged.