What I felt then I feel now: the inexorable, unchanging interior hum of doubt and hope.

Wars, invented and organized by the highest available consciousnesses (do the worms go to war? do the fish? do the paramecia?), are the planet's chief source and cause of torment.

Whoever mourns the dead mourns himself.

Godlessness invariably produces vulgarity. Civilization is the product of belief.

Comedy springs from the ludicrous; but the ludicrous is stuck in the muck of reality, resolutely hostile to what is impossible.

We often take for granted the very things that most deserve our gratitude.

What we think we are surely going to do, we don't do; and what we never intended to do, we may one day notice that we have done, and done, and done.