I wish you'd help me look into a more interesting problem - namely, my sanity.

The big trouble with dumb bastards is that they are too dumb to believe there is such a thing as being smart.

He was seemingly born not only with a gift for language, but with a particularly nasty clock which makes him go crazy every three years or so.

The world is too serious. To get mad at a work of art-because maybe somebody, somewhere is blowing his stack over what I've done-is like getting mad at a hot fudge sundae.

Everything that ever has been always will be, and everything that ever will be always has been.

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.

What's going to happen is, very soon, we're going to run out of petroleum, and everything depends on petroleum. And there go the school buses. There go the fire engines. The food trucks will come to a halt. This is the end of the world.