Whom the mad would destroy, first they make gods.

Countries like ours are full of people who have all of the material comforts they desire, yet lead lives of quiet (and at times noisy) desperation, understanding nothing but the fact that there is a hole inside them and that however much food and drink they pour into it, however many motorcars and television sets they stuff it with, however many well-balanced children and loyal friends they parade around the edges of it. . . it aches!

No amount of manifest absurdity... could deter those who wanted to believe from believing.

Once, when a British Prime Minister sneezed, men half a world away would blow their noses. Now when a British Prime Minister sneezes nobody else will even say 'Bless You'.

Whom the mad would destroy, first they make gods.

The cure for mixed metaphors, I have always found, is for the patient to be obliged to draw a picture of the result.

I suppose we all tend to remember only the happiness from our childhood, as a sundial refuses to tell the time except in fine weather.