I wonder why progress looks so much like destruction.

In uncertainty I am certain that underneath their topmost layers of frailty men want to be good and want to be loved.

Show me the man who isn't interested in discussing himself.

Ever'body's askin' that. "What we comin' to?" Seems to me we don't never come to nothin'. Always on the way.

The Mexican War was a training ground for generals, so that when the sad self-murders settled on us, the leaders knew the techniques for making it properly horrible.

The land is so much more than its analysis.

For every man in the world functions to the best of his ability, and no one does less than his best, no matter what he may think about it.