A dog will make eye contact. A cat will, too, but a cat's eyes don't even look entirely warm-blooded to me, whereas a dog's eyes look human except less guarded. A dog will look at you as if to say, "What do you want me to do for you? I'll do anything for you." Whether a dog can in fact, do anything for you if you don't have sheep (I never have) is another matter. The dog is willing.

Studying literature at Harvard is like learning about women at the Mayo Clinic.

The North isn't a place. It's just a direction out of the South.

I prefer my oysters fried; that way I know my oysters died.

If a cat spoke, it would say things like, 'Hey, I don't see the problem here.'

Anyone who undertakes the literary grind had better like playing around with words.

I do not Twitter. I don't want to Twitter, and I don't see any point in Twittering. The last thing I want to do is tell people what I'm doing at the moment because I'm probably not doing what I'm supposed to be doing.