Kilgore Trout once wrote a short story which was a dialogue between two pieces of yeast. They were discussing the possible purposes of life as they ate sugar and suffocated in their own excrement. Because of their limited intelligence, they never came close to guessing that they were making champagne.

The secret to success in any human endeavor is total concentration.

The hare of history once more overtakes the tortoise of art.

That's what is was to be young - to be enthusiastic rather than envious about the good work other people could do.

My own feeling is that if adultery is wickedness then so is food. Both make me feel so much better afterward.

All was forgiven. All living things were brothers, and all dead things were even more so.

The Summer had died peacefully in its sleep, and Autumn, as soft-spoken executrix, was locking life up safely until Spring came to claim it.