The trouble with me is that I'm an outsider. And that's a very hard thing to be in American life.

We should all do something to right the wrongs that we see and not just complain about them.

A great goal in life is the only fortune worth finding.

The first time you marry for love, the second for money, and the third for companionship.

Once you can express yourself, you can tell the world what you want from it. All the changes in the world, for good or evil, were first brought about by words.

If you bungle raising your children, I don't think whatever else you do matters very much.

There are many little ways to enlarge your child's world. Love of books is the best of all.

I think my biggest achievement is that, after going through a rather difficult time, I consider myself comparatively sane.

Pearls are always appropriate.

I think the major role of the First Lady is to take care of the President so that he can best serve the people. And not to fail her family, her husband, and children.

Americans care about their past, but for short term gain they ignore it and tear down everything that matters.

Those who possess time are often not aware of its value.

A neurotic is the man who builds a castle in the air. A psychotic is the man who lives in it. And a psychiatrist is the man who collects the rent.

The egg is white though the hen is black as coal...Out of evil comes good, through the great goodness of God.

An unexamined life is not worth living, and an unexamined faith is not worth holding.

I look at 'The New York Review of Books.' It's what it has been for 35 or 40 years, which is a highly sophisticated vehicle for anti-American self-hatred.

Romance is the icing but love is the cake.

I've got great faith in the essential fairness and decency - you may say goodness - of the human being.

It is always a tense moment for an author to see how someone hasillustrated his or her story, because the author has lived for so long with these characters, sometimes for years.

The most unrealistic person in the world is the cynic, not the dreamer.

On I’ll pass, dragging my huge love behind me. On what feverish night, deliria-ridden, by what Goliaths was I begot – I, so big and by no one needed?