I ain't never seen no head so level that it could bear the lettin' in of politics.

No matter how vital experience might be while you lived it, no sooner was it ended and dead than it became as lifeless as the piles of dry dust in a school history book.

But, of course only morons would ever think or speak of themselves as intellectuals. That's why they all look so sad.

Cruelty is the only sin.

To teach one's self is to be forced to learn twice.

The share of the sympathetic publisher in the author's success - the true success so different from the ephemeral - is apt to be overlooked in these blatant days, so it is just as well that some of us should keep it in mind.

Doesn't all experience crumble in the end to mere literary material?