... is there anything more unjust than to build gold and brass and iron on poor, well-meaning clay, -- and then blame the clay when the whole image falls into dust?

Nature is perfectly impartial. Brain has no sex!

Conscience that isn't hitched up to common sense is a mighty dangerous thing.

Some time in our lives every man and woman of us, putting out our hands toward the stars, touch on either side our prison walls the immutable limitations of temperament

There is no embarrassment quite like the embarrassment of listening to a person for whom one has a regard making a fool of himself.

... some of the things floating about in the Well of Memory are not worth recording.

One must desire something to be alive; perhaps absolute satisfaction is only another name for Death.