Don't bite off your head to spite your nose.
I shall weave a suit of leaves. At once. With acorns for buttons.
All I could think of when I got a look at the place from the outside was what fun it would be to stand out there and watch it burn down.
I came to believe that being a private detective was the work I was meant to do.
She had taken to wondering lately, during these swift-counted years, what had been done with all those wasted summer days; how could she have spent them so wantonly? I am foolish, she told herself early every summer, I am very foolish; I am grown up now and know the values of things. Nothing is ever really wasted, she believed sensibly, even one's childhood, and then each year, one summer morning, the warm wind would come down the city street where she walked and she would be touched with the little cold thought: I have let more time go by.
The first book is the book you have to write to get back at your parents; the book you always had in you. Once you get that out of your way, you can start writing books.
Life Among the Savages is a disrespectful memoir of my children.
There is no WHY, since the moment simply is, and since all of us are simply trapped in the moment, like bugs in Amber.
If you run into a monkey in some idiot context, automatically you've got a very real problem taking place in the photograph.
Dressing a baby is like putting an octopus into a string bag, making sure none of the arms hang out.
The world is nothing, the man is all; in yourself is the law of all nature, and you know not yet how a globule of sap ascends; in yourself slumbers the whole of Reason; it is for you to know all, it is for you to dare all.