Life is a moderately good play with a badly written third act.

Are there any writers on the literary scene whom I consider truly great? Yes: Truman Capote.

Lively, too. Talky as a jaybird. With something smart to say on every subject: better than the radio.

It snowed all week. Wheels and footsteps moved soundlessly on the street, as if the business of living continued secretly behind a pale but impenetrable curtain. In the falling quiet there was no sky or earth, only snow lifting in the wind, frosting the window glass, chilling the rooms, deadening and hushing the city. At all hours it was necessary to keep a lamp lighted, and Mrs. Miller lost track of the days: Friday was no different from Saturday and on Sunday she went to the grocery: closed, of course.

If there is no mystery, for the artist, to solve inside of his art, then there's no point in it....for me, every act of the art of solving a mystery.

I like to talk on TV about those things that aren't worth writing about.

It's worth your life to order an omelette in most restaurants. You never know what you're going to get.