"'I make mistakes, but I am on the side of Good,' the Golux said, 'by accident and happenchance. I had high hopes of being evil when I was two, but in my youth I came upon a firefly burning in a spider's web. I saved the victim's life.'
'The firefly's?' asked the minstrel.
'The spider's. The blinking arsonist had set the web on fire.'"
-The Thirteen Clocks, by James Thurber

"I suppose that even the most pleasurable of imaginable occupations, that of batting baseballs through the windows of the R.C.A. building, would pall a little as the days ran on." -James Thurber on how all occupations have their disadvantages

A black figure in a velvet mask and hood and cloak disappeared behind a tree. "The cold Duke's spy-in-chief," the traveler said, "a man named Whisper. Tomorrow he will die. He'll die because, to name your sins, he'll have to mention mittens. I leave at once for other lands, since I have mentioned mittens. You'll never live to wed his neice. You'll only die to feed his geese. Goodbye, good night, and sorry."
-James Thurber, The Thirteen Clocks

"The mistaken exits and entrances of my thirties have moved me several times to some thought of spending the rest of my days wandering aimlessly around the South Seas, like a character out of Conrad, silent and inscrutable. But the necessity for frequent visits to my oculist and dentist has prevented this. You can't be running back from Singapore every few months to get your lenses changed and still retain the proper mood for wandering. Furthermore, my horn-rimmed glasses and my Ohio accent petray me, even when I sit on the terrasses of little tropical cafes, wearing a pith helmet, staring straight ahead, and twitching a muscle in my jaw. I found this out when I tried wandering around the West Indies one summer. Instad of being followed by the whispers of men and the glances of women, I was followed by a bead salesman and native women with postcards. Nor did any dark girl, looking at all like Tondelayo in 'White Cargo,' come forward and offer to go to pieces with me. They tried to sell me baskets." -James Thurber, A Note At The End

A black figure in a velvet mask and hood and cloak disappeared behind a tree. "The cold Duke's spy-in-chief," the traveler said, "a man named Whisper. Tomorrow he will die. He'll die because, to name your sins, he'll have to mention mittens. I leave at once for other hands, since I have mentioned mittens. You'll never live to wed his neice. You'll only die to feed his geese. Goodbye, good night, and sorry." -James Thurber, The Thirteen Clocks