Sailors ought never to go to church. They ought to go to hell, where it is much more comfortable.

The establishment of the world community will surely exact a price – and who can tell what that price may be? – in toil, suffering and blood.

I saw a gray-haired man a figure of hale age, sitting at a desk and writing.

Crude classifications and false generalizations are the curse of the organized life.

Religions are such stuff as dreams are made of.

I went over the heads of the things a man reckons desirable. No doubt invisibility made it possible to get them, but it made it impossible to enjoy them when they are got.

To do such a thing would be to transcend magic. And I beheld, unclouded by doubt, a magnificent vision of all that invisibility might mean to a man—the mystery, the power, the freedom. Drawbacks I saw none. You have only to think! And I, a shabby, poverty-struck, hemmed-in demonstrator, teaching fools in a provincial college, might suddenly become—this.