Man is vile, I know, but people are wonderful.

Look at it this way: Psychoanalysis is a permanent fad.

Rather than waste precious time arguing, I went up and started serving my "sentence" without delay. It was usually about an hour for epigrams; somewhat longer for a paradox.

Everybody hates me because I'm so universally liked.

Let us hope, I prayed, that a kind Providence will put a speedy end to the acts of God under which we have been laboring.

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.

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?