How nice -- to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.

As stupid and vicious as men are, this is a lovely day.

Puny man can do nothing at all to help or please God Almighty, and Luck is not the hand of God.

Nowadays, of course, just about our only solvent industry is the merchandising of death, bankrolled by our grandchildren.

I myself grew up when radio was very important. I'd come home from school and turn on the radio. There were funny comedians and wonderful music, and there were plays. I used to pass time with radio.

I thought scientists were going to find out exactly how everything worked, and then make it work better. I fully expected that by the time I was twenty-one, some scientist, maybe my brother, would have taken a color photograph of God Almighty—and sold it to Popular Mechanics magazine. Scientific truth was going to make us so happy and comfortable. What actually happened when I was twenty-one was that we dropped scientific truth on Hiroshima.

Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.