Love is not the dying moan of a distant violin - it's the triumphant twang of a bedspring.

Where would the Rockefellers be today if old John D. had gone on selling short-weight kerosene ... to widows and orphans instead of wisely deciding to mulct the whole country.

Tomatoes and squash never fail to reach maturity. You can spray them with acid, beat them with sticks and burn them; they love it.

If, at the close of business each evening, I myself can understand what I've written, I feel the day hasn't been totally wasted.

There are nineteen words in Yiddish that convey gradations of disparagement, from a mild, fluttery helplessness to a state of downright, irreconcilable brutishness. All of them can be usefully employed to pinpoint the kind of individuals I write about.

I'll dispose of my teeth as I see fit, and after they've gone, I'll get along. I started off living on gruel, and by God, I can always go back to it again.

I tried to resist his overtures, but he plied me with symphonies, quartets, chamber music, and cantatas.