Maybe it's true that we are all descended from the restless, the nervous, the criminals, the arguers and brawlers, but also the brave and independent and generous. If our ancestors had not been that, they would have stayed in their home plots in the other world and starved over the squeezed-out soil.

The study of history, while it does not endow with prophecy, may indicate lines of probability.

Time is the only critic without ambition.

Writers are a little below clowns and a little above trained seals.

When the virus of restlessness begins to take possession of a wayward man, and the road away from Here seems broad and straight and sweet, the victim must first find himself a good and sufficient reason for going.

And you know what it is? San Francisco a golden handcuff with the key thrown away.

You can't slice up morals.