Will I have to use a dictionary to read your book?” asked Mrs. Dodypol. “It depends,” says I, “how much you used the dictionary before you read it.
When people call up Rush Limbaugh and say, ‘It’s an honor to speak to you,’ I want to shoot myself.
September: it was the most beautiful of words, he’d always felt, evoking orange-flowers, swallows, and regret.
Where there is no style, there is in effect no point of view. There is, essentially, no anger, no conviction, no self. Style is opinion, hung washing, the caliber of a bullet, teething beads.
I hate injustice, I despise inequity, I condemn hypocrisy, I abhor the lack of reason.
If on a friend’s bookshelf You cannot find Joyce or Sterne Cervantes, Rabelais, or Burton, You are in danger, face the fact, So kick him first or punch him hard And from him hide behind a curtain.