Don't tell me about the world. Not today. It's springtime and they're knocking baseball around fields where the grass is damp and green in the morning and the kids are trying to hit the curve ball.

I don't ask for the meaning of the song of a bird or the rising of the sun on a misty morning. There they are, and they are beautiful.

He tried to imagine the sound of the color red.

For those without money, the road to the treasure house of the imagination begins at the public library.

In the end, the only thing the true New Yorker knows about New York is that it is unknowable.

Writing is the hardest work in the world not involving heavy lifting.

More than anything, it's a game of innocence. Politicians may come and go, but they always get booed at the ballpark.

It's odd being an American now. Most of us are peaceful, but here we are again, in our fifth major war of this century.

The library is a place where most of the things I came to value as an adult had their beginnings.

This is truly marvelous work full of mystery, nostalgia, joy, The Color of Whimsy.

The only way to fight nostalgia is to listen to somebody else's nostalgia

I always was intrigued with writing my own stuff, and I was always really bad at learning other people's stuff.

Death is simply a shedding of the physical body, like the butterfly coming out of a cocoon. . . . It's like putting away your winter coat when spring comes.

Art being so much greater than ourselves, it will not give up once it has taken hold.

If there's anything unsettling to the stomach, it's watching actors on television talk about their personal lives.

I didn't waste my time on things I didn't love.

I'm carrying so much pork, I'm beginning to get trichinosis.

The situation in Iraq will be long, it will be expensive and it will be difficult. But in the end, Iraq will very much be worth it.

I did a lot of student acting when I was young.

When you are a great scholar of stupidity, logics and marketing, you can do practically everthing, from business to trading, from spiritual research to artistic criticism.

A melancholy sound is in the air, A deep sigh in the distance, a shrill wail Around my dwelling. 'Tis the Wind of night.