As I mentioned, I was a carpenter for a time.

Human interactions, stimulated as they are by disequilibrium, never achieve balance. In even the most favorable transaction, one party whether he realizes it or not must always come out the worse.

Of all questions, why? is the least pertinent. It begs the question; it assumes the larger part of its own response; to wit, that a sensible response exists.

Freedom, privileges, options, must constantly be exercised, even at the risk of inconvenience.

Good music always defeats bad luck

But I've sure worked at jobs where I have been under inspection.

While we are alive we should sit among colored lights and taste good wines, and discuss our adventures in far places; when we are dead, the opportunity is past.

What is an evil man? The man is evil who coerces obedience to his private ends, destroys beauty, produces pain, extinguishes life.

A barbarian is not aware that he is a barbarian.

I understand the gist of your speculation,' said Rhialto. 'It is most likely nuncupatory.

I was a carpenter for a time and everybody watches what you do.

You cannot separate passion from pathology any more than you can separate a person's spirit from his body.

She kept hoping that something would happen to rescue her from her own small-scale, predictable dreams.

Mankind, not womankind, has slaughtered more humans in the name of God and Religion than for any other reason.

He who wants to do everything will never do anything.

Resistance is the secret of joy!

I think when I was pretty young I got really into the tone of my instrument and I remember just playing one note for an hour to just kind of feel the resonance of the violin.

The very dogs were all asleep, and the flies, drunk with moist sugar in the grocer's shop, forgot their wings and briskness, and baked to death in dusty corners of the window.

Don't ever lose that innocent laughter, don't let time take that away

Dont worry, Roza, I'm not afraid. I'll take whatever heat they give me over being with you. It's worth it.

The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled; And Shakespeare at his side,-a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world!