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

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.

We've had bad luck with our kids - they've all grown up.

Perhaps this is an age when men think bravely of the human spirit; for surely they have a strange lust to lay it bare.

They go in [to the library] not because they need any certain volume but because they feel that there may be some book that needs them.

The evening papers print what they do and get away with it because by afternoon the human mind is ruined anyhow.

God made man merely to hear some praise of what he'd done on those Five Days.