And none will hear the postman’s knock Without a quickening of the heart. For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?

Composing mortals with immortal fire.

I just try to put the thing out and hope somebody will read it. Someone says: 'Whom do you write for?' I reply: 'Do you read me?' If they say 'Yes,' I say, 'Do you like it?' If they say 'No,' then I say, 'I don't write for you.'

I think the first prerequisite to civilization is an ability to make polite conversation.

Art is our chief means of breaking bread with the dead.

Evil is unspectacular and always human, and shares our bed and eats at our own table.

Human beings are, necessarily, actors who...can be divided...into the sane who know they are acting and the mad who do not.