For over two thousand years it has been the custom among earnest moralists to decry happiness as something degraded and unworthy

The life of man is a long march through the night, surrounded by invisible foes, tortured by weariness and pain, towards a goal that few can hope to reach, and where none may tarry long.

Brief and powerless is man's life; on him and all his race the slow, sure doom falls pitiless and dark.

The teaching of Christ, as it appears in the Gospels, has had extraordinarily little to do with the ethics of Christians.

It is permissible with certain precautions to speak in print of coitus, but it is not permissible to employ the monosyllabic synonym for this word.

The world in which we live can be understood as a result of muddle and accident; but if it is the outcome of deliberate purpose, the purpose must have been that of a fiend. For my part, I find accident a less painful and more plausible hypothesis.

No; we have been as usual asking the wrong question. It does not matter a hoot what the mockingbird on the chimney is singing. The real and proper question is: Why is it beautiful?