The wind is us-- it gathers and remembers all our voices, then sends them talking and telling through the leaves and the fields.

Oh Jesus God we did belong to each other. He was mine.

But it's Sunday, Mr. Bell. Clocks are slow on Sundays.

I've never had an affair with somebody who wasn't at the same time a very good friend of mine, if you see what I mean.

Writing stopped being fun when I discovered the difference between good writing and bad and, even more terrifying, the difference between it and true art. And after that, the whip came down.

I've never been a teacher in my life.

Champagne does have one regular drawback: swilled as a regular thing a certain sourness settles in the tummy, and the result is permanent bad breath. Really incurable.