A man speaking sense to himself is no madder than a man speaking nonsense not to himself.

Words, words. They're all we have to go on.

We must be born with an intuition of mortality. Before we know the word for it. Before we know that there are words. Out we come, bloodied and squalling, with the knowledge that for all the points of the compass, there's only one direction. And time is its only measure.

I can put two and two together, you know. Do not think you are dealing with a man who has lost his grapes.

What a fine persecution—to be kept intrigued without ever quite being enlightened.

You can persuade a man to believe almost anything provided he is clever enough, but it is much more difficult to persuade someone less clever.

Well I believe in the desirability of an optimal society.