The marvelous rebellion of man at all signs reading "Keep Off.

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.

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.

To work hard, to live hard, to die hard, and then go to hell after all would be too damned hard.

There is an eagle in me that wants to soar, and there is a hippopotamus in me that wants to wallow in the mud.

I had taken a course in Ethics. I read a thick textbook, heard the class discussions and came out of it saying I hadn't learned a thing I didn't know before about morals and what is right or wrong in human conduct.

Yesterday and tomorrow cross and mix on the skyline. The two are lost in a purple haze. One forgets, one waits.