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

A man can believe a considerable deal of rubbish, and yet go about his daily work in a rational and cheerful manner.

The families of our friends are always a disappointment.

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

Wine is a precarious aphrodisiac, and its fumes have blighted many a mating.

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.

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