I suppose the human race is doing the best it can but hells bells thats only an explanation its not an excuse.

Between the years of ninety-two and a hundred and two, however, we shall be the ribald, useless, drunken, outcast person we have always wished to be. We shall have a long white beard and long white hair; we shall not walk at all, but recline in a wheel chair and bellow for alcoholic beverages; in the winter we shall sit before the fire with our feet in a bucket of hot water, a decanter of corn whiskey near at hand, and write ribald songs against organized society... We look forward to a disreputable, vigorous, unhonoured, and disorderly old age.

The most pleasant and useful persons are those who leave some of the problems of the universe for God to worry about.

The things that I can't have I want, And what I have seems second-rate, The things I want to do I can't, And what I have to do I hate.

We pay for the mistakes of our ancestors, and it seems only fair that they should leave us the money to pay with.

Just as soon as the uplifters get a country reformed it slips into a nose dive.

Old godheads sink in space and drown Their arks like foundered galleons sucked down.