A book is like a man - clever and dull, brave and cowardly, beautiful and ugly.

There are no ugly questions except those clothed in condescension.

The first grave. Now we're getting someplace. Houses and children and graves, that's home, Tom. Those are the things that hold a man down.

We gather our arms full of guilt as though it were precious stuff. It must be that we want it that way.

I have thought that men and women should never come together except in bed. There is the only place where their natural hatred of each other is not so apparent.

But 'Thou mayest!'! Why, that makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. He can choose his course and fight it through and win

I have wondered why is it that some people are less affected and torn by the verities of life and death that others.