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?

Books about suicide make lousy gifts.

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."

Baseball fans are pedants, there is no other kind.

Every writer is a writer of the generation before.

The American male doesn't mature until he has exhausted all other possibilities.

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