Now it is done. Now the story ends. And there is no way to tell it. The art of fiction is dead. Reality has strangled invention.

I have known writers who paid no damned attention whatever to the rules of grammar and rhetoric and somehow made the language behave for them.

The natural habitat of the tongue is the left cheek.

I think it's the real world. The people we're writing about in professional sports, they're suffering and living and dying and loving and trying to make their way through life just as the brick layers and politicians are.

For 350 years we have been taught that reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man and writing an exact man. Football's place is to add a patina of character, a deference to the rules and a respect for authority.

In entertainment value, the Democratic clambake usually lays it over the Republican conclave like ice cream over parsnips.

Unlike the normal pattern, I know I have grown more liberal as I've grown older. I have become more convinced that there is room for improvement in the world.