Language ought to be the joint creation of poets and manual workers.

His answer to every problem, every setback was “I will work harder!” —which he had adopted as his personal motto.

The whole experience of being hit by a bullet is very interesting and I think worth describing in detail.

War is evil, but it is often the lesser evil.

But what is work and what is not work? Is it work to dig, to carpenter, to plant trees, to fell trees, to ride, to fish, to hunt, to feed chickens, to play the piano, to take photographs, to build a house, to cook, to sew, to trim hats, to mend motor bicycles? All of these things are work to somebody, and all of them are play to somebody. There are in fact very few activities which cannot be classed either as work or play according as you choose to regard them.

The Catholic and the Communist are alike in assuming that an opponent cannot be both honest and intelligent.

Today there were fear, hatred, and pain, but no dignity of emotion, no deep or complex sorrows.