The essential act of war is destruction, not necessarily of human lives, but of the products of human labor. War is a way of shattering to pieces, or pouring into the stratosphere, or sinking in the depths of the sea, materials which might otherwise be used to make the masses too comfortable, and hence, in the long run, too intelligent.

I often wondered whether any of the others grasped that I had done it solely to avoid looking a fool.

Windmill or no windmill, he said, life would go on as it had always gone on--that is, badly.

You preferred to be a lunatic, a minority of one.

No man should be allowed to be the President who does not understand hogs, or hasn't been around a manure pile.

Either we all live in a decent world, or nobody does.

To hang on from day to day and from week to week, spinning out a present that had no future, seemed an unconquerable instinct, just as one's lungs will always draw the next breath so long as there is air available.