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Some of my favorite poets had a tremendous sense of whimsy, so it's a writing style I guess I admire.

A whim, a passing mood, readily induces the novelist to move hearth and home elsewhere. He can always plead work as an excuse to get him out of the clutches of bothersome hosts.

Solitude begets whimsies.

I've never been a fan of whimsical or confusing storytelling.

I choose not to be at the whim of others. I want to be at my own whim.

From my earliest days I have enjoyed an attractive impediment in my speech. I have never permitted the use of the word stammer. I can't say it myself.

I love whimsy. My mother was a word person, a real quipster. She was famous in the 1950s for being a contester in Utah: 25 words or less. My bicycle, our hi-fi... in 1959, she won $15,000 from Remington-Rand for writing about a shaver. She was a farm girl from South Dakota.

I am not whiny!