It is a landmark in a writer’s career when he first finds his work put to purposes of which he does not approve.
The punishment for a hit is to watch your aging audience stifle their boredom while they wait for you to play it, at every show, until you quit or die.
The micromanager constantly remarks his hatred of micromanaging, as if he were driven to it, as a last resort, by the sheer fecklessness of his underlings.
Sports are dead, and so is the water cooler to congregate by to discuss them.
In less than two centuries communism has established itself as the apex predator on civilization, a killing machine: one admires it as one admires a hardy but lethal virus, or the great white shark.
At the beginning of civilization we hate and fear the alien; at its height we study and attempt to understand him; and in its dotage we accept and support him, and at the end prefer him to our own.
When I was young, I regarded argument as a path to truth, later as a harmless vice, and finally as a positive plague.
A two-dollar word will also debit two dollars from your account when you use it incorrectly.
What we call rule by out-of-touch elites was known in the 19th century as civil service reform, and if Plunkitt of Tammany Hall were alive today, he would have every reason to feel vindicated.
We have won, at long last, the means and opportunity to make ourselves over completely, according to our own desires — and look around.