Religion is an attempt, a noble attempt, to suggest in human terms more-than-human realities.

It is unfair to blame man too fiercely for being pugnacious; he learned the habit from Nature.

Everybody thinks of others as being excessively human, with all the frailties and crotchets appertaining to that curious condition. But each of us also seems to regard himself as existing on a detached plane of observation, exempt (save in moments of avid crisis) from the strange whims of humanity en masse.

There is only one rule for being a good talker - learn to listen.

There are certain people whom one feels almost inclined to urge to hurry up and die so that their letters can be published.

Blessed is the satirist; and blessed the ironist; blessed the witty scoffer, and blessed the sentimentalist; for each, having seen one spoke of the wheel, thinks to have seen all, and is content.

Printer's ink has been running a race against gunpowder these many, many years. Ink is handicapped, in a way, because you can blow up a man with gunpowder in half a second, while it may take twenty years to blow him up with a book. But the gunpowder destroys itself along with its victim, while a book can keep on exploding for centuries.