There's something in it when a body like the widow or the parson prays, but it don't work for me, and I reckon it don't work for only just the right kind.
There are lies, damned lies and statistics.
The altar cloth of one aeon is the doormat of the next.
Nature knows no indecencies; man invents them.
None but the dead are permitted to tell the truth.
Once I talked to the inmates of an insane asylum in Hartford. I have talked to idiots a thousand times, but only once to the insane.