American married life is the doormat to the whorehouse.

There ain't no sin and there ain't no virtue. There's just stuff people do.

He can kill anything for need but he could not even hurt a feeling for pleasure.

You can only understand people if you feel them in yourself.

Then it is better, sir, to love whom one cannot have?" "Probably better," Lancelot said. "Certainly safer.

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

After the bare requisites to living and reproducing, man wants most to leave some record of himself, a proof, perhaps, that he has really existed. He leaves his proof on wood, on stone or on the lives of other people. This deep desire exists in everyone, from the boy who writes dirty words in a public toilet to the Buddha who etches his image in the race mind. Life is so unreal. I think that we seriously doubt that we exist and go about trying to prove that we do.