He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

Human language is mythological and metaphorical by nature.

No person can be a great leader unless he takes genuine joy in the successes of those under him.

History marched to the drums of a clear idea...

A poor American feels guilty at being poor, but less guilty than an American rentier who has inherited wealth but is doing nothingto increase it; what can the latter do but take to drink and psychoanalysis?

Music is the best means we have of digesting time.

Soft as the earth is mankind and both need to be altered.