In history as it comes to be written, there is usually some Spirit of the Age which historians can define, but the shape of things is seldom so clear to those who live them. To most thoughtful men it has generally seemed that theirs was an Age of Confusion.

There are some optimists who search eagerly for the skunk cabbage which in February sometimes pushes itself up through the ice, and who call it a sign of spring. I wish that I could feel that way about it, but I do not. The truth of the matter, to me, is simply that skunk cabbage blooms in the winter time.

Though we face the facts of sex we are more reluctant than ever to face the fact of death or the crueler facts of life, either biological or social.

Life is very persistent and very ingenious in seizing every opportunity.

Those whose conscience demands that they defy authority in some ways that involve great consequences must be willing to accept some penalty.

To have passed through life and never experienced solitude is to have never known oneself. To have never known oneself is to have never known anyone.

It is not ignorance but knowledge which is the mother of wonder.