Day, after day, after glorious day, I was falling in love with books.

Out of the nursery into the college and back into the nursery; there’s your intellectual pattern for the past five centuries or more.

I'm not really dying today. No person ever died that had a family. I'll be around a long time. A thousand years from now, a whole township of my offspring will be biting sour apples in the gumwood shade.

Just write every day of your life. Read intensely.

The zipper displaces the button and a man lacks just that much time to think while dressing at dawn, a philosophical hour, and thus a melancholy hour.

Love is easy, and I love writing. You can't resist love. You get an idea, someone says something, and you're in love.

So in sum, what are we? We are the creatures that know and know too much. That leaves us with such a burden again we have a choice, to laugh or cry. No other animal does either. We do, depending on the season and the need.