Writing is a dog's life, but the only life worth living.

Yes, living voices in a living language, so it seemed to us.

Words began to appear in English and to make some kind of equivalent. For what satisfaction it is hard to say, except that something seems unusually piercing, living, handsome, in another language, and since English is yours, you wish it to be there too.

Where we're living we have a certain amount of our profit every year it's like a percentage 5 or 7% or something like that that we set aside specifically for charity things.

I think it's like music for the sake of music, and a lot of the words stem from liking music a lot, wanting to be a good band and having a good sense of humour, and living in a situation where we're free to pretty much do what we want.

I can no more think of my own life without thinking of wine and wines and where they grew for me and why I drank them when I did and why I picked the grapes and where I opened the oldest procurable bottles, and all that, than I can remember living before I breathed.

If our country is worth dying for in time of war let us resolve that it is truly worth living for in time of peace.

I think England has served me very well. I like living in London for the reasons I gave. I have absolutely no intentions of cutting those ties. There is absolutely no reason to do so. Certainly not, so that I can have a swimming pool and a palm tree.

I don't think that we necessarily lie. I mean, we make our living by pretending that we're someone else. I don't tell tall tales. I always tell the truth.

In a way, the history of jazz's development is a small mirror of classical music's development through the centuries. Now jazz is a living form of original music, while classical music has gotten to the end of its cycle in terms of exploring its form.

Here lies W. C. Fields. I would rather be living in Philadelphia.

The cost of living has gone up another dollar a quart.

My last son is leaving to go to college; my grandchildren are being born. My mother is living with me.

Faulkner sat in our living room and read from Light in August. That was incredible.

But I was feeling quite down at the time. I was living in L.A., which was kind of weird for me.