Hate, in the long run, is about as nourishing as cyanide.

Only nut cases want to be president. This was true even in high school. Only clearly disturbed people ran for class president.

He ate a pear. It was a hard one. It fought back against his grinding teeth. It snapped in juicy protest.

It is, in the imagination of combat's fans, the divinely listless loveplay that follows the orgasm of victory. It is called 'mopping up.

The other American divisions on our flanks managed to pull out: We were obliged to stay and fight. Bayonets aren't much good against tanks.

The biggest truth to face now - what is probably making me unfunny now for the remainder of my life - is that I don't think people give a damn whether the planet goes or not. It seems to me as if everyone is living as members of Alcoholics Anonymous do, day by day. And a few more days will be enough. I know of very few people who are dreaming of a world for their grandchildren.

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