It is silly to go on pretending that under the skin we are brothers. The truth is more likely that under the skin we are all cannibals, assassins, traitors, liars and hypocrites.

Everything was for tomorrow, but tomorrow never came. The present was only a bridge and on this bridge they are still groaning, as the world groans, and not one idiot ever thinks of blowing up the bridge.

It is almost banal to say so yet it needs to be stressed continually: all is creation, all is change, all is flux, all is metamorphosis.

We do not talk - we bludgeon one another with facts and theories gleaned from cursory readings of newspapers, magazines and digests.

When you know what men are capable of you marvel neither at their sublimity nor their baseness. There are no limits in either direction apparently.

On the meridian of time, there is no injustice: there is only the poetry of motion creating the illusion of truth and drama.

I used to think a bird couldn't fly if its wings got wet.