...we took the 10 machines we agreed were the most beguiling, and we put them on permanent exhibit in the foyer of this library underneath a sign whose words can surely be applied to this whole ruined planet nowadays: THE COMPLICATED FUTILITY OF IGNORANCE

What do men want? They want a lot of pals, and they wish that people wouldn't get so mad at them.

No art is possible without a dance with death.

I have this disease late at night sometimes, involving alcohol and the telephone. I get drunk, and I drive my wife away with a breath like mustard gas and roses. And then, speaking gravely and elegantly into the telephone, I ask the telephone operators to connect me with this friend or that one, from whom I have not heard in years.

The primary benefit of practicing any art, whether well or badly, is that it enables one's soul to grow.

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

To whom it may concern: It is springtime. It is late afternoon.