Nothing in this world came out of satisfaction. Except the human race.

It is not possible to love and be wise.

You can't have a tin can tied to your tail and go through life pretending it isn't there.

The worst of pushing horrible things down into one's subconscious is that when they pop up again they are as fresh as if they had been in a refrigerator. You haven't allowed time to get at them to-to mould them over a little.

A man may own a ship, but unless he is captain of a crew he goes where the ship goes.

Letterwriting is the natural outlet of the "odds." The busy-bodies, the idle, the perverted, the cranks, the feel-it-my-duties ... Also the plain depraved. They all write letters. It's their safe outlet, you see. They can be as interfering, as long-winded, as obscene, as pompous, as one-idea'd, as they like on paper, and no one can kick them for it. So they write. My God, how they write!

If you think about the unthinkable long enough it becomes quite reasonable.