How shall the murdered man convince his assassin he will not haunt him.

Never think that by releasing me you will be free. You would only condemn us to an ultimate hell on earth. You would only free something else to destroy us both.

Good God, if our civilization were to sober up for a couple of days it'd die of remorse on the third.

How shall the murdered man convince his assassin he will not haunt him.

No, my secrets are of the grave and must be kept. And this is how I sometimes think of myself, as a great explorer who has discovered some extraordinary land from which he can never return to give his knowledge to the world: but the name of this land is hell.

Only against death does man cry out in vain.

In the war to come correspondents would assume unheard of importance, plunging through flame to feed the public its little gobbets of dehydrated excrement.