Give a man a car of his own and he leaves humility and common sense behind him in the garage.

What else has a journalist to do these days, after all, but report life's miseries?

Home's where you go when you run out of homes.

What do you think spies are: priests, saints and martyrs? They're a squalid procession of vain fools, traitors too, yes; pansies, sadists and drunkards, people who play cowboys and Indians to brighten their rotten lives.

My definition of a decent society is one that first of all takes care of its losers, and protects its weak.

People who've had very unhappy childhoods are pretty good at inventing themselves. If nobody invents you for yourself, nothing is left but to invent yourself for others.

Cheats, liars and criminals may resist every blandishment while respectable gentlemen have been moved to appalling treasons by watery cabbage in a departmental canteen.