You are not mechanics, you are warriors. You have been trained, not to think, but to do.

What on earth would a man do with himself, if something did not stand in his way?

Nothing endures, nothing is precise and certain (except the mind of a pedant), perfection is the mere repudiation of that ineluctable marginal inexactitude which is the mysterious inmost quality of Being

I had rather be called a journalist than an artist.

No passion in the world is equal to the passion to alter someone else's draft.

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.

The new century will see changes that will dwarf those of the last.