It seems to me that the soul, when alone with itself and speaking to itself, uses only a small number of words, none of them extraordinary.

Science means simply the aggregate of all the recipes that are always successful. All the rest is literature.

Advertising has annihilated the power of the most powerful adjectives.

Serious people have few ideas. People with ideas are never serious.

The future, like everything else, is no longer quite what it used to be.

In poetry everything which must be said is almost impossible to say well.

My soul is nothing now but the dream dreamt by matter struggling with itself!