I am not a born writer, but I was born a writer.
One never knows when one is old for certain.
The Press blew, the public stared, hands flew out like a million little fishes after bread.
Pity is exhaustible. What a terrible discovery!
Why do birds sing in the morning? It’s the triumphant shout: ‘We got through another night!’
Before you fall asleep everyday, say something positive to yourself.
Judges don’t age. Time decorates them.
But I had been in love pretty often and I didn’t think it stood the wear and tear.
After forty years of marriage we still stood with broken swords in our hands.
Marriage. The beginning and the end are wonderful. But the middle part is hell.
Things come suitable to the time.
One can lie, but truth is more interesting.
Dead news like dead love has no phoenix in its ashes.
The dangerous thing about hate is that it seems so reasonable.
One’s palate is reborn every morning!
Let this serve as an axiom to every lover: A woman who refuses lunch refuses everything.
An only child is never twelve.
There may be wonder in money, but, dear God, there is money in wonder.
The pleasure of one’s effect on other people still exists in age – what’s called making a hit. But the hit is much rarer and made of different stuff.
I shall continue to explore-the astonishment of living.
Isn’t the fear of pain next brother to pain itself?