For me, a page of good prose is where one hears the rain and the noise of battle. It has the power to give grief or universality that lends it a youthful beauty. – John Cheever
It was a splendid summer morning and it seemed as if nothing could go wrong. – John Cheever
The organizations of men, like men themselves, seem subject to deafness, near-sightedness, lameness, and involuntary cruelty. We seem tragically unable to help one another, to understand one another. – John Cheever
A lonely man is a lonesome thing, a stone, a bone, a stick, a receptacle for Gilbeys gin, a stooped figure sitting at the edge of a hotel bed, heaving copious sighs like the autumn wind. – John Cheever