A cheese may disappoint. It may be dull, it may be naive, it may be oversophisticated. Yet it remains cheese, milk's leap toward immortality.

To take wine into our mouths is to savor a droplet of the river of human history.

A good memory is one trained to forget the trivial.

To divide one's life by years is of course to tumble into a trap set by our own arithmetic. The calendar consents to carry on its dull wall-existence by the arbitrary timetables we have drawn up in consultation with those permanent commuters, Earth and Sun. But we, unlike trees, need grow no annual rings.

The adjective is the banana peel of the parts of speech.

There are two kinds of writers; the great ones who can give you truths, and the lessor ones, who can only give you themselves.

When you reread a classic, you do not see more in the book than you did before; you see more in you than there was before.

Mr. Faulkner, of course, is interested in making your mind rather than your flesh creep.

A man who is careful with his palate is not likely to be careless with his paragraphs.

For most men life is a search for the proper manila envelope in which to get themselves filed.