“I was blown up while we were eating cheese.”

“I would like to take the great DiMaggio fishing," the old man said. "They say his father was a fisherman. Maybe he was as poor as we are and would understand.”

“Please tell me what can I do. There must be something I can do”

“Why should anybody be interested in some old man who was a failure?”

“There are events which are so great that if a writer has participated in them his obligation is to write truly rather than assume the presumption of altering them with invention.”

“Wolves and bears, they say, casting their savagery aside, have done like offices of pity.”

“The weary sun hath made a golden setAnd by the bright tract of his fiery carGives token of a goodly day to-morrow.”

“Nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will.”

“Behold the Sea,The opaline, the plentiful and strong,Yet beautiful as is the rose in June,Fresh as the trickling rainbow of July;Sea full of food, the nourisher of kinds,Purger of earth, and medicine of men;Creating a sweet climate by my breath,Washing out harms and griefs from memory,And, in my mathematic ebb and flow,Giving a hint of that which changes not.”

“The sea is masculine, the type of active strength. Look, what egg-shells are drifting all over it, each one, like ours, filled with men in ecstasies of terror, alternating with cockney conceit, as the sea is rough or smooth. Is this sad-colored circle an eternal cemetery?”

“Behold the threaden sails,Borne with the invisible and creeping wind,Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea,Breasting the lofty surge”

“Let me not to the marriage of true mindsAdmit impediments. Love is not loveWhich alters when it alteration finds,Or bends with the remover to remove:O no! it is an ever-fixed markThat looks on tempests and is never shaken;It is the star to every wandering bark,Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeksWithin his bending sickle's compass come:Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,But bears it out even to the edge of doom.If this be error and upon me proved,I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”

“To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still.”

“Age cannot wither her, nor custom staleHer infinite variety.”