Polite Conversation Why, everyone one as they like; as the good woman said when she kissed her cow.

Laws are like cobwebs, which may catch small flies, but let wasps and hornets break through.

We have enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love one another.

For in reason, all government without the consent of the governed is the very definition of slavery.

Vision is the art of seeing things invisible.

That the universe was formed by a fortuitous concourse of atoms, I will no more believe than that the accidental jumbling of the alphabet would fall into a most ingenious treatise of philosophy.

Promises and pie-crust are made to be broken.

When a true genius appears, you can know him by this sign: that all the dunces are in a confederacy against him.

You should never be ashamed to admit you have been wrong. It only proves you are wiser today than yesterday

The sight of you is good for sore eyes.

He was a bold man that first ate an oyster.

He informed Byrdie that his social engineering ambitions betrayed all the delusions of grandeur that you might expect from the son of a poet.

We know that from time to time there arise among human beings people who seem to exude love as naturally as the sun gives out heat.

I think that one should view with philosophic admiration the strange paths of the libido and should investigate the purposes of its circuitous ways.

I just think that fiction that isn't exploring what it means to be human today isn't art.

Men substitute words for reality and then argue about the words.

There are thousands of causes for stress, and one antidote to stress is self-expression. That's what happens to me every day. My thoughts get off my chest, down my sleeves and onto my pad.

We are all humans and all deserve the same respect and attention.

To me I seem to be constantly growing. I must respond to varying conditions, yet remain changeless within.

I think that carrying on a life that is meant to be private in public is a breach of taste, common sense, and mental hygiene.

A pale sun poked impudent marmalade fingers through the grizzled lattice glass, and sent the shadows scurrying, like convent girls menaced by a tramp.