Progress is the mother of problems.

Life is indeed terribly complicated—to a man who has lost his principles.

To be wrong, and to be carefully wrong, that is the definition of decadence.

The first fact about the celebration of a birthday is that it is a way of affirming defiantly, and even flamboyantly, that it is a good thing to be alive.

Ingratitude is surely the chief of the intellectual sins of man. He takes his political benefits for granted, just as he takes the skies and the seasons for granted.

Like every book I never wrote, it is by far the best book I have ever written.

Lying in bed would be an altogether perfect and supreme experience if only one had a colored pencil long enough to draw on the ceiling.