"My reading as a child was lazy and cowardly, and it is yet. I was afraid of encountering, in a book,..." — John Updike

A seventeenth-century house can be recognized by its steep roof, massive central chimney and utter porchlessness. Some of those houses have a second-story overhang, emphasizing their medieval look.

In leaving New York in 1957, I did leave without regret the literary demimonde of agents and would-be's and with-it nonparticipants; this world seemed unnutritious and interfering.

The dwelling places of Europe have an air of inheritance, or cumulative possession - a hive occupied by generations of bees.

The essential self is innocent, and when it tastes its own innocence knows that it lives for ever.