It has appeared that from the inevitable laws of our nature, some human beings must suffer from want. These are the unhappy persons who, in the great lottery of life, have drawn a blank.

A writer may tell me that he thinks man will ultimately become an ostrich. I cannot properly contradict him.

I think it will be found that experience, the true source and foundation of all knowledge, invariably confirms its truth.

The world's population will multiply more rapidly than the available food supply.

The power of population is so superior to the power of the earth to produce subsistence for man, that premature death must in some shape or other visit the human race.

Evil exists in the world not to create despair but activity.

A great emigration necessarily implies unhappiness of some kind or other in the country that is deserted.

The perpetual struggle for room and food.

Malthus married in 1804 and beat three children with his wife

Had population and food increased in the same ratio, it is probable that man might never have emerged from the savage state.

The rich, by unfair combinations, contribute frequently to prolong a season of distress among the poor.

Nothing is interesting if you're not interested.

Without this playing with fantasy no creative work has ever yet come to birth. The debt we owe to the play of the imagination is incalculable.

The saddest thing in life and the hardest to live through, is the knowledge that there is someone you love very much whom you cannot save from suffering.

Never tell tales about a woman. No matter how far away she is, shell always hear you.

I support anyone's right to be who they want to be. My question is: to what extent do I have to participate in your self-image?

I believe that there is a kind of poetry, even a kind of truth, in simple fact.

More than fifty-five years ago my father told me, "The Bible does not belong on the shelf but in your hand, under your eye, and in your heart."

I've not actually been on too many dates.

He has the personality of a child prodigy, but no discernable talent.

Nature does not reveal all her secrets at once. We imagine we are initiated in her mysteries: we are, as yet, but hanging around her outer courts.