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

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.

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

Cheese is milk's leap toward immortality.

I think we must quote whenever we feel that the allusion is interesting or helpful or amusing.