Standing by the crib of one's own baby, with that world - old pang of compassion and protectiveness toward this so little creature that has all its course to run, the heart flies back in yearning and gratitude to those who felt just so toward one's self. Then for the first time one understands the homely succession of sacrifices and pains by which life is transmitted and fostered down the stumbling generations of men.

If you have to keep reminding yourself of a thing, perhaps it isn't so.

There is no mistaking a real book when one meets it. It is like falling in love.

New York, the nation's thyroid gland.

Life is a foreign language; all men mispronounce it.

Lots of times you have to pretend to join a parade in which you're not really interested in order to get where you're going.

There is an innate decorum in man, and it is not fair to thrust Truth upon people when they don't expect it. Only the very generous are ready for Truth impromptu.