One martini is all right. Two are too many, and three are not enough.
There are two kinds of light – the glow that illuminates, and the glare that obscures.
Boys are beyond the range of anybody’s sure understanding, at least when they are between the ages of 18 months and 90 years.
I have lived in the East for nearly thirty years now, but many of my books prove that I am never very far away from Ohio in my thoughts, and that the clocks that strike in my dreams are often the clocks of Columbus.
In the pathways between office and home and home and the houses of settled people there are always, ready to snap at you, the little perils of routine living, but there is no escape in the unplanned tangent, the sudden turn.
All men kill the thing they hate, too, unless, of course, it kills them first.
With sixty staring me in the face, I have developed inflammation of the sentence structure and definite hardening of the paragraphs.
Nowadays men lead lives of noisy desperation.
There is no safety in numbers, or in anything else.
A drawing is always dragged down to the level of its caption.
I drew pictures rapidly and with few lines, because I had to write most of the pieces, too, and couldn’t monkey long with the drawings. The divine urge was no higher than that.
The trouble with the lost generation is that it didn’t get lost enough.
If you wonder which is the stronger sex, watch which one twists the other around her little finger.
I’m sixty-five and I guess that puts me in with the geriatrics, but if there were fifteen months in every year, I’d only be forty-eight.
Humor and pathos, tears and laughter are, in the highest expression of human character and achievement, inseparable.
The pounding of the cylinders increased: ta-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa.
American girls often marry someone they can’t stand to spite someone they can.
Don’t count your boobies until they are hatched.
I don’t remember any blue poodles.
Looks can be deceiving; it’s eating that’s believing.