How many more, I must ask myself, such perfect ends of Augusts will I witness? - John Updike

Everybody who tells you how to act has whiskey on their breath.

I would rather have as my patron a host of anonymous citizens digging into their own pockets for the price of a book or a magazine than a small body of enlightened and responsible men administering public funds. I would rather chance my personal vision of truth striking home here and there in the chaos of publication that exists than attempt to filter it through a few sets of official, honorably public-spirited scruples.

Being a divorcee in a small town is a little like playing Monopoly; eventually you land on all the properties.