April prepares her green traffic light and the world thinks Go.

Man makes a great fuss about this planet which is only a ballbearing in the hub of the universe.

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.

No one appreciates the very special genius of your conversation as the dog does.

Any man worth his salt has by the time he is forty-five accumulated a crown of thorns, and the problem is to learn to wear it over one ear.

Truth is the ricochet of a prejudice bouncing off a fact.

From now until the end of time no one else will ever see life with my eyes, and I mean to make the best of my chance.