There is a kinship, a kind of freemasonry, between all persons of intelligence, however antagonistic their moral outlook.

The true cook is the perfect blend, the only perfect blend, of artist and philosopher. He knows his worth: he holds in his palm the happiness of mankind, the welfare of generations yet unborn.

You can tell the ideals of a nation by its advertisements.

It takes a wise man to handle a lie, a fool had better remain honest.

I can find no room in my cosmos for a deity save as a waste product of human weakness, the excrement of the imagination.

What is all wisdom save a collection of platitudes? But the man who orders his life according to their teachings cannot go far wrong.

It is one of the maladies of our age to profess a frenzied allegiance to truth in unimportant matters, to refuse consistently to face her where graver issues are at stake.