Man hoards himself when he has nothing to give away.

Evil, which is our companion all our days, is not to be treated as a foe. It is wrong to cocker vice, but we grow narrow and pithless if we are furtive about it, for this is at best a pretense, and the sage knows good and evil are kindred. The worst of men harm others, and the best injure themselves.

There is a strange and mighty race of people called the Americans who are rapidly becoming the coldest in the world because of this cruel, man-eating idol, lucre.

We can only write well about our sins because it is too difficult to recall a virtuous act or even whether it was the result of good or evil motives.

We are always talking about being together, and yet whatever we invent destroys the family, and makes us wild, touchless beasts feeding on technicolor prairies and rivers.

I know sage, wormwood, and hyssop, but I can't smell character unless it stinks.

A painter can hang his pictures, but a writer can only hang himself.