At eight or nine, I suppose intelligence is no more than a small spot of light on the floor of a large and murky room.

Truth would quickly cease to be stranger than fiction, once we got as used to it.

A sense of humor always withers in the presence of the messianic delusion, like justice and the truth in front of patriotic passion.

A living language is like a man suffering incessantly from small hemorrhages, and what it needs above all else is constant transactions of new blood from other tongues. The day the gates go up, that day it begins to die.

The only way to reconcile science and religion is to set up something which is not science and something that is not religion.

For every problem, there is a solution that is simple, neat, and wrong.

Who ever heard, indeed, of an autobiography that was not (interesting)? I can recall none in all the literature of the world