Civilization is maintained by a very few people in a small number of places and we need only some bombs and a few prisons to blot it out altogether.

Two weeks before his death, a friend asked him half jokingly if he had discovered any meaning in life. "Yes," he replied, "there is a meaning; at least, for me, there is one thing that matters - to set a chime of words tinkling in the minds of a few fastidious people."

All charming people have something to conceal, usually their total dependence on the appreciation of others.

Hate is crystallized fear, fear's dividend, fear objectivized. We hate what we fear and so where hate is, fear will be lurking.

Our memories are card indexes consulted and then returned in disorder by authorities whom we do not control.

The civilization of one epoch becomes the manure of the next.

Life is a maze in which we take the wrong turning before we have learned to walk.