I think it is all a matter of love: the more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it is.

To a greater or lesser extent there goes on in every person a struggle between two forces: the longing for privacy and the urge to go places: the introversion, interest directed within oneself toward one's own inner life of vigorous thought and fancy; and extroversion, interest directed outward, toward the external world of people and tangible values.

There is nothing in the world that I loathe more than group activity, that communal bath where the hairy and slippery mix in a multiplication of mediocrity.

By God, I could make myself bring her that economically halved grapefruit, that sugarless breakfast.

At eight, he had once told his mother that he wanted to paint air.

Those Eggheadsareterrible Philistines. A realgood head is not oval but round.

The writer's job is to get the main character up a tree, and then once they are up there, throw rocks at them.