Governing is occupying but not interesting, governments are occupying but not interesting.

Whoever said money can't buy happiness didn't know where to shop

Everybody gets so much information all day long that they lose their common sense.

A vegetable garden in the beginning looks so promising and then after all little by little it grows nothing but vegetables, nothing, nothing but vegetables.

You'll be old and you never lived, and you kind of feel silly to lie down and die and to never have lived, to have been a job chaser and never have lived.

You are all a lost generation.

America is my country and Paris is my hometown.

In the morning there is meaning, in the evening there is feeling.

Love: the skillful audacity required to share an inner life.

What was the use of my having come from Oakland it was not natural to have come from there yes write about it if I like or anything if I like but not there, there is no there there.

That is what you are. That's what you all are...All of you young people who served in the war. You are a lost generation.

The information I most want is in books not yet written by people not yet born.

I can't justify to myself working less, even if you get more out of it. Even though, in practice, it does seem it would be better for me personally.

If Solomon counts the day of one's death better than the day of one's birth, there can be no objection why that also may not be reckoned amongst one's remarkable and happy days.

Listen to a man's words and look at the pupil of his eye. How can a man conceal his character?

Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes.

I know for sure that's what we're here to do: Keep the joy thing going for all seasons.

The wet air was as cold as the ashes of love.

In my day we let the wolfswans incapable of birthing our young die. (Markus) Then it’s a good thing we’re in the twenty-first century and not the Dark Ages, isn’t it? (Fang)

Sprigs of plum by the corner of the wall Are blooming alone in the cold; If not for the subtle fragrance drifting over Who could tell this from snow on the boughs.

Death by hanging. That, at least, I thought I would be spared.