The world doesn't owe you anything. It was here first.

But it is a blessed provision of nature that at times like these, as soon as a man's mercury has got down to a certain point there comes a revulsion, and he rallies. Hope springs up, and cheerfulness along with it, and then he is in good shape to do something for himself, if anything can be done.

It's no wonder that truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense.

But the elastic heart of youth cannot be compressed into one constrained shape long at a time.

I don't know of a single foreign product that enters this country untaxed, except the answer to prayer.

Frankenstein took some flesh and bones and blood and made a man out of them; the man ran away and fell to raping and robbing and murdering everywhere, and Frankenstein was horrified and in despair, and said, I made him, without asking his consent, and it makes me responsible for every crime he commits. I am the criminal, he is innocent.

It's not as bad as it sounds.