Intellectual ''work'' is misnamed; it is a pleasure, a dissipation, and is its own highest reward.

Wherein lies a poet's claim to originality? That he invents his incidents? No. That he was present when his episodes had their birth? No. That he was first to repeat them? No. None of these things has any value. He confers on them their only originality that has any value, and that is his way of telling them.

He who asks is a fool for five minutes, but he who does not ask remains a fool forever.

The piano may do for love-sick girls who lace themselves to skeletons, and lunch on chalk, pickles and slate pencils, but give me the banjo.

Irrevence is another person's disrespect to your god; there isn't any word that tells what your disrespect to his god is.

There are people who think that honesty is always the best policy. This is a superstition. There are times when the appearance of it is worth six of it.

There are two times in a man's life when he should not speculate: when he can't afford it, and when he can.