No romantic novel ever written in America, by man or woman, is one half so beautiful as My Ántonia.

The scent of frying astronomers long ago ceased to ascend to Yahweh.

God is a Republican, and Santa Claus is a Democrat.

The psychologists and the metaphysicians wrangle endlessly over the nature of the thinking process in man, but no matter how violently they differ otherwise they all agree that it has little to do with logic and is not much conditioned by overt facts.

The longest sentence you can form with two words is: I do.

The demagogue is one who preaches doctrines he knows to be untrue to men he knows to be idiots.

I know of no American who starts from a higher level of aspiration than the journalist. . . . He plans to be both an artist and a moralist -- a master of lovely words and merchant of sound ideas. He ends, commonly, as the most depressing jackass of his community -- that is, if his career goes on to what is called a success.