Every writer is a writer of the generation before.

If the French were really intelligent, they'd speak English.

For Catholics before Vatican II, the land of the free was pre-eminently the land of Sister Says-except, of course, for Sister, for whom it was the land of Father Says.

I picked up the writing on the very day he died. It was the only consolation I could find.

The town is as full as ever of 'characters,' all created by each other.

You noodle around with tempo and sound until you get the perfect fit for that particular song, and then, so long as you can sustain it, God is on your side and everything comes easily and even the waiters smile.

Books about suicide make lousy gifts.