Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can: all of them make me laugh.

May it not be that, just as we have to have faith in Him, God has to have faith in us and, considering the history of the human race so far, may it not be that 'faith' is even more difficult for Him than it is for us?

Far from his illness The wolves ran on through the evergreen forests, The peasant river was untempted by the fashionable quays; By mourning tongues The death of the poet was kept from his poems.

God bless the USA, so large, so friendly, and so rich.

In Brueghel’s Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away Quite leisurely from the disaster, the ploughman may Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry, But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green water, And the expensive ship that must have seen Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky, Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

A real book is not one that we read, but one that reads us.

Every autobiography is concerned with two characters, a Don Quixote, the Ego, and a Sancho Panza, the Self.