Tiger got to hunt,
Bird got to fly;
Man got to sit and wonder, “Why, why, why?”
Tiger got to sleep,
Bird got to land;
Man got to tell himself he understand.
Viet Nam was a country where America was trying to make people stop being communists by dropping things on them from airplanes.
There is no beginning, no middle, no end, no suspense, no moral, no causes, no effects. What we love in our books are the depths of many marvelous moments seen all at one time.
Maturity is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists, unless laughter can be said to remedy anything.
If I were a younger man, I would write a history of human stupidity; and I would climb to the top of Mount McCabe and lie down on my back with my history for a pillow; and I would take from the ground some of the blue-white poison that makes statues of men; and I would make a statue of myself, lying on my back, grinning horribly, and thumbing my nose at You Know Who.[This is the last line in the book]
I let the dog out, or I let him in, and we talk some. I let him know I like him, and he lets me know he likes me.