It's the way God runs the world.Tom thought about this for a moment.He's all right, Doug, said Tom. He tries.
It won't work,' Mr. Bentley continued, sipping his tea. 'No matter how hard you try to be what you once were, you can only be what you are here and now. Time hypnotizes. When you're nine, you think yo...
It stood in the middle of a vast yard behind the terribly strange house. And this tree rose up some one hundred feet in the air, taller than the high roofs and full and round and well branched, and co...
It learned you can’t love anything too much in this world.
In your reading, find books to improve your color sense, your sense of shape and size in the world.
In the attic where the rain touched the roof softly on spring days and where you could feel the mantle of snow outside, a few inches away, on December nights, A Thousand Times Great Grandmère existed....
In real life, as we know, the failure to relax a particular tension can lead to madness.
Impossible; for how many people did you know who refracted your own light to you?
Ideas—written ideas—are special. They are the way we transmit our stories and our thoughts from one generation to the next. If we lose them, we lose our shared history. We lose much of what makes us h...
I've tasted every victual and danced every dance; now there's one last tart I haven't bit on, one time I haven't whistled. but I'm not afraid. I'm truly curious. Death won't get a crumb by my mouth I...
I've always known that the quality of love was the mind, even though the body sometimes refuses this knowledge. The body lives for itself. It lives only to feed and wait for the night. It's essentiall...
I'm numb and I'm tired. Too much has happened today. I feel as if I'd been out in a pounding rain for forty-eight hours without an umbrella or a coat. I'm soaked to the skin with emotion.
I wish I had known him, but he was just another shadow outside my screen door and I already had a sufficiency of shadows in.
I was only kicking down the Christmas tree to get the star on top.
I was amused and somewhat astonished at a critic a few years back who wrote an article analyzing Dandelion Wine plus the more realistic works of Sinclair Lewis, wondering how I could have been born an...
I thought you could beat, pummel, and thrash an idea into existence. Under such treatment, of course, any decent idea folds up its paws, turns on its back, fixes its eyes on eternity, and dies.
I think of her hands but I don’t see them doing anything at all. They just hang there at her sides or they lay there on her lap or there’s a cigarette in them, but that’s all.
I suppose it's an unconscious little stream of wit that flows quietly under everything I do or say.
I miss that in the city you can walk outside your front door and there’s people all around you. And they don’t know a thing about you.You could be anyone.
I like to watch people. Sometimes I ride the subway all day and look at them and listen to them. I just want to figure out who they are and what they want and where they're going.