Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands and goes to work.

Whenever a people or an institution forget its hard beginnings, it is beginning to decay.

History is a living horse laughing at a wooden horse. History is a wind blowing where it listeth. History is no sure thing to bet on. History is a box of tricks with a lost key. History is a labyrinth of doors with sliding panels, a book of ciphers with the code in a cave of the Saragossa sea. History says, if it pleases, Excuse me, I beg your pardon, it will never happen again if I can help it.

By night the skyscraper looms in the smoke and the stars and has a soul.

My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive in the universe.

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo. Shovel them under and let me work- I am the grass; I cover all. And pile them high at Gettysburg. And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun. Shovel them under and let me work. Two years, ten years,and passengers ask the conductor- What place is this? Where are we now? I am the grass. Let me work.

The secret of happiness is to admire without desiring.