I know this... a man got to do what he got to do.

It is one of the triumphs of the human that he can know a thing and still not believe it.

There is no term comparable to green thumbs to apply to such a mechanic, but there should be. For there are men who can look, listen, tap, make an adjustment, and a machine works.

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

Nearly everyone has his box of secret pain.

There are two kinds of people in the world, observers and non-observers.

Men don't get knocked out, or I mean they can fight back against big things. What kills them is erosion; they get nudged into failure. They get slowly scared.[...]It's slow. It rots out your guts.