The way his plump hand clutched at her hip seemed somehow improper; not morally, aesthetically.

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

It is the want to know the end that makes us believe in God, or witchcraft, believe, at least, in something

Oh, I adore to cook. It makes me feel so mindless in a worthwhile way.

I knew Lee Harvey Oswald, and I knew Jack Kennedy. The odds against that-one person knowing all four of those men-must be astounding.

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

The only obligation any artist can have is to himself. His work means nothing, otherwise. It has no meaning.