Nobody can have the consolations of religion or philosophy unless he has first experienced their desolations.

In a few years, no doubt, marriage licences will be sold like dog licences, good for 12 months.

Procrustes in modern dress, the nuclear scientist will prepare the bed on which mankind must lie; and if mankind doesn’t fit—well, that will be just too bad for mankind. There will have to be some stretching and a bit of amputation—the same sort of stretching and amputations as have been going on ever since applied science really got going into its stride, only this time they will be a good deal more drastic than in the past. These far from painless operations will be directed by highly centralized totalitarian governments.

A large city cannot be experientially known; its life is too manifold for any individual to be able to participate in it.

Ignore death up to the last moment; then, when it can't be ignored any longer, have yourself squirted full of morphia and shuffle off in a coma. Thoroughly sensible, humane and scientific, eh?

Every man's memory is his private literature.

Dedicated to all those who say: "I don't have time for analytics" or "I don't understand analytics".