I pledged myself to smoke but one cigar a day. I kept the cigar waiting until bedtime, then I had a luxurious time with it. But desire persecuted me every day and all day long. I found myself hunting for larger cigars...within the month my cigar had grown to such proportions I could have used it as a crutch.

My idea of our civilization is that it is a shoddy, poor thing and full of cruelties, vanities, arrogances, meannesses and hypocrisies.

Of the demonstrably wise there are but two: those who commit suicide, & those who keep their reasoning faculties atrophied with drink.

The Public is merely a multiplied 'me.'

The first of April is the day we remember what we are the other 364 days of the year.

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

The art of prophecy is very difficult, especially with respect to the future.