I rail against writers who talk about the loneliness of it all — what do they want, a crowd looking over their typewriters? Or those who talk about having to stare at a blank page — do they want someone to write on it?

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

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

Books about suicide make lousy gifts.

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

I rail against writers who talk about the loneliness of it all — what do they want, a crowd looking over their typewriters? Or those who talk about having to stare at a blank page — do they want someone to write on it?

The actual Irish weather report is really a recording made in 1922, which no one has had occasion to change. "Scattered showers, periods of sunshine."