I'd Thought I'd Live With My Wife,

There Were About Seventy-nine Squillion People In The World, And If You Were Very Lucky, You Would End Up Being Loved By Fifteen Or Twenty Of Them.

Books Are, Let's Face It, Better Than Everything Else. If We Played Cultural Fantasy Boxing League, And Made Books Go Fifteen Rounds In The Ring Against The Best That Any Other Art Form Had To Offer, Then Books Would Win Pretty Much Every Time.

Complaining About Boring Football Is A Little Like Complaining About The Sad Ending Of King Lear: It Misses The Point Somehow.

Cynicism Is Our Shared Common Language, The Esperanto That Actually Caught On, And Though I'm Not Fluent In It - I Like Too Many Things, And I'm Not Envious Of Enough People - I Know Enough To Get By.

Everything's Complicated, Even Those Things That Seem Flat In Their Bleakness Or Sadness.