My dislike has no consequences. It accrues only in my mind—like preserves on a shelf or guns zeroing in, and never firing.

There follows a little obscenity here, a dash of philosophy there, considerable whining overall, and a modern satirical novel is born.

The whole magic of a plot requires that somebody be impeded from getting something over with.

There are so many different types of writers. It's just sheer coincidence that they're all called writers.

The radical intelligence in the moderate position is the only place where the center holds. Or so it seems.

A favorite strategy was the paragraph-terminating: Right? Followed immediately by Wrong. This linear invitation to a mugging was considered a strategy of wit.

Nice criticism is good when it tells you something. A lot of negative "criticism" isn't criticism at all: it's just nasty, "writerly" cliché and invective.