Christmas Isn't A Season. It's A Feeling.

A Whole Roomful Of Jews Is Like A Charged Battery. The Vitality Sparks Seem To Fly, And Frequently The Result Is A Short Circuit.

I Think That In Order To Write Really Well And Convincingly, One Must Be Somewhat Poisoned By Emotion.

To Be Alive Is A Fine Thing. It Is The Finest Thing In The World, Though Hazardous. It Is A Unique Thing. It Happens Only Once In A Lifetime. To Be Alive, To Know Consciously That You Are Alive, And To Relish That Knowledge -- This Is A Kind Of Magic. Or It May Be A Kind Of Madness, Exhilarating But Harmless.

I Sat Staring Up At A Shelf In My Workroom From Which Thirty-one Books Identically Dressed In Neat Dark Green Leather Stared Back At Me With A Sort Of Cold Hostility Like Children Who Resent Their Parents. Don't Stare At Us Like That! They Said. Don't Blame Us If We Didn't Turn Out To Be The Perfection You Expected. We Didn't Ask To Be Brought Into The World.

About Mistakes It's Funny. You Got To Make Your Own; And Not Only That, If You Try To Keep People From Making Theirs They Get Mad.