I Think That In Order To Write

We No Longer Build Fireplaces For Physical Warmth—we Build Them For The Warmth Of The Soul; We Build Them To Dream By, To Hope By, To Home By.

The Writer Is A Writer Because He Cannot Help It. It Is A Compulsion.

Here In Texas Maybe We've Got Into The Habit Of Confusing Bigness With Greatness.

Any Man Who Can Look Handsome In A Dirty Baseball Suit Is An Adonis. There Is Something About The Baggy Pants, And The Micawber-shaped Collar, And The Skull-fitting Cap, And The Foot Or So Of Tan, Or Blue, Or Pink Undershirt Sleeve Sticking Out At The Arms, That Just Naturally Kills A Man's Best Points.

Cherry Cobbler Is Shortcake With A Soul.