Morning is wonderful. Its only drawback is that it comes at such an inconvenient time of day.
Books are nothing but repositories for those lies the author wants his reader to believe.
There were dreams once upon a time, dreams now all but forgotten. On sad days I dust them off and fondle them nostalgically, with a patronizing wonder at the naivete of the youth who dreamed them.
More evil gets done in the name of righteousness than any other way.
Where there is no waste, there is no want.
Rich men have dreams. Poor men die to make them come true.