I've got news for Mr. Santayana: we're doomed to repeat the past no matter what. That's what it is to be alive.

All persons, living and dead, are purely coincidental.

If you can't write clearly, you probably don't think nearly as well as you think you do.

The bounties of space, of infinite outwardness, were three: empty heroics, low comedy, and pointless death.

You had to get everything exactly right or the editors would give you hell.

My ancestors were all Freethinkers, formerly Catholics. It was science and Darwin, in particular, that made them decide, as educated people, which they were, that the priest, nice as he was, didn't know what he was talking about.

The hopes and fears of all our years are here with us tonight.