I went to the kitchen and felt-up the turkey.

being alone never felt right. sometimes it felt good, but it never felt right.

There's no way I can stop writing, it's a form of insanity.

As a recluse I couldn't bear traffic. It had nothing to do with jealousy, I simply disliked people, crowds, anywhere, except at my readings. People diminished me, they sucked me dry.

Her one drink had Cecelia giggling and talking and she was explaining that animals had souls too. Nobody challenged her opinion. It was possible, we knew. What we weren't sure of was if we had any.

The worst thing for a writer is to know another writer, and worse than that, to know a number of other writers. Like flies on the same turd.

People were usually much better in their letters than in reality. They were much like poets in this way.

Goodness could be found sometimes in the middle of hell.

I didn't like anything. Maybe I was afraid. That was it - I was afraid. I wanted to sit alone in a room with the shades down. I feasted upon that. I was a crank. I was a lunatic.

I began to feel like a kept man and it felt great.

You're the most unknown famous man I ever met

Keep cool anger is not an argument.

Letters form a by-path of literature, a charming, but occasional, retreat for people of cultivated leisure.

Why do I want to believe what I believe?... Science, to put it somewhat vulgarly, is a technique to keep yourself from kidding yourself.

The last thing people want is a surprise, these days.

If Congress were to censure, fine or otherwise try to punish a president, it would dramatically alter the balance of power between the branches.

The idea that there is only one way to be reconciled with God has its origins in the Old Testament.

When she walked...she stretched out long and thin like a little tiger, and held her head high to look over the grass as if she were treading the jungle.

So many people bare their midriffs, I don't know why mine is such an issue.

If my life were a song the title would be 'The Comeback Kid.'

If you stretch your imagination, I'll tell you all a tale, about a time when everything wasn't up for sale.