I get up in the morning with an idea for a three-volume novel and by nightfall it's a paragraph in my column.

How often when they find a sage, As sweet as Socrates or Plato; They hand him hemlock for his wage, Or bake him like a sweet potato!

I say that I am myself, but what is this Self of mine But a knot in the tangled skein of things where chance and change combine?

Honesty is a good thing, but it is not profitable to its possessor unless it is kept under control.

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 s…

I write to discover what I think. After all, the bars aren't open that early.

If you ever want to find out just how uninteresting you really are, get a job where the quality and frequency of your thoughts determine your livelihood. I've …