There Are Two Kinds Of Writers; The

For Most Men, Life Is A Search For The Proper Manila Envelope In Which To Get Themselves Filed.

The Tantrums Of Cloth-headed Celluloid Idols Are Deemed Fit For Grown-up Conversation, While Silence Settles Over Such A Truly Important Matter As Food.

Name Me Any Liquid — Except Our Own Blood — That Flows More Intimately And Incessantly Through The Labyrinth Of Symbols We Have Conceived To Mark Our Status As Human Beings, From The Rudest Peasant Festival To The Mystery Of The Eucharist.

I Found Nothing Really Wrong With This Autobiography Except Poor Choice Of Subject.

I Think We Must Quote Whenever We Feel That The Allusion Is Interesting Or Helpful Or Amusing.