On the moon we wore feathers in our hair, and rubies on our hands. On the moon we had gold spoons.

No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality.

Life Among the Savages is a disrespectful memoir of my children.

Materializations are often best produced in rooms where there are books. I cannot think of any time when materialization was in any way hampered by the presence of books.

We eat the year away. We eat the spring and the summer and the fall. We wait for something to grow and then we eat it.

The idea of a series of items, following one another docilely, forms the only possible reasonable approach to life if you have to live it with a home and a husband and children, none of whom would dream of following one another docilely.

I cannot find any patience for those people who believe that you start writing when you sit down at your desk and pick up your pen and finish writing when you put down your pen again; a writer is always writing, seeing everything through a thin mist of words, fitting swift little descriptions to everything he sees, always noticing. Just as I believe that a painter cannot sit down to his morning coffee without noticing what color it is, so a writer cannot see an odd little gesture without putting a verbal description to it, and ought never to let a moment go by undescribed.