Who can say what heartbreaks are caused in a dog by our discontinuing a romp?

I have rewritten — often several times — every word I have ever published. My pencils outlast their erasers.

...All my best words are deserters and do not answer the trumpet call, and the remainder are cripples.

I am sufficiently proud of my knowing something to be modest about my not knowing all.

A change of environment is the traditional fallacy upon which doomed loves, and lungs, rely.

But as Van casually directed the searchlight of backthought into that maze of the past where the mirror-lined narrow paths not only took different turns, but used different levels (as a mule-drawn cart passes under the arch of a viaduct along which a motor skims by), he found himself tackling, in still vague and idle fashion, the science that was to obsess his mature years - problems of space and time, space versus time, time-twisted space, space as time, time as space - and space breaking away from time, in the final tragic triumph of human cogitation: I am because I die.

I don't read reviews about myself with any special eagerness or attention unless they are masterpieces of wit and acumen, and I never reread them.