I should have no use for a paradise in which I should be deprived of the right to prefer hell.
I prefer the honest jargon of reality to the outright lies of books.
There are big and little truths, but all belong to the same race.
God, that checkroom of our dreams.
My pessimism extends to the point of even suspecting the sincerity of other pessimists.
Hatred, for the man who is not engaged in it, is a little like the odor of garlic for one who hasn't eaten any.