There's nothing in the world like that first taste of beer.

You're going to pass something down no matter what you do or if you do nothing. Even if you let yourself go fallow, the weeds will grow and the brambles. Something will grow.

It's one of the great fallacies, it seems to me, that time gives much of anything but years and sadness to man.

The last clear definite function of man — muscles aching to work, minds aching to create beyond the single need — this is man.

“Do you take pride in your hurt?” Samuel asked. “Does it make you seem large and tragic?” “I don't know.” “Well, think about it. Maybe you're playing a part on a great stage with only yourself as audience.”

I should have known I am the rain. I am the land and I am the rain. The grass will grow out of me in a little while.

Every man in a bank hates what the bank does and yet the bank does it.