Too many moralists begin with a dislike of reality.

Every maiden's weak and willin' When she meets the proper villian.

A universe capable of giving birth to many such accidents is-- blind or not-- a good world to live in, a promising universe.

The artistic impulse seems not to wish to produce finished work. It certainly deserts us half-way, after the idea is born; and if we go on, it is labor.

The creatures that want to live a life of their own, we call wild. If wild, then no matter how harmless, we treat them as outlaws, and those of us who are specially well brought up shoot them for fun.

Ants are good citizens: they place group interests first.

Tender are a mother's dreams, But her babe's not what he seems. See him plotting in his mind To grow up some other kind.