The fall of man stands a lie before Beethoven, a truth before Hitler.
If you have a choice of two things and can't decide, take both.
I remember the people I knew in prison; I was very fortunate to know them - they came from 1910, 1920, 1930.
Standing on a street corner waiting for no one is power.
My father took me back home, back to Greenwich Village, and he thought by taking me out of the orphanage he'd be out of the World War too. But no way - they got him anyway. He went in the Navy and then I lived on the streets.
They, that unnamed they, they've knocked me down but I got up. I always get up -- and I swear when I went down quite often I took the fall; nothing moves a mountain but itself. They, I've long ago named them me.