The sky is now indelible ink, The branches reft asunder; But you and I we do not shrink; We love the lovely thunder.

Some tortures are physical And some are mental, But the one that is both Is dental.

Middle-age is when you're sitting at home on a Saturday night and the telephone rings and you hope it isn't for you.

I would live all my life in nonchalance and insouciance, were it not for making living, which is rather a nouciance.

The door of a bigoted mind opens outwards so that the only result of the pressure of facts upon it is to close it more snugly.

Happiness is having a scratch for every itch.

Behold the Zebra on the plains, And shudder at his mighty manes!

The bed is a bundle of paradoxes: we go to it with reluctance, yet we quit it with regret; we make up our minds every night to leave it early, but we make up our bodies every morning to keep it late.

When I remember bygone days I think how evening follows morn So many I loved were not yet dead, So many I love were not yet born.

Whenever you're wrong, admit it; Whenever you're right, shut up.

Marriage is the alliance of two people, one of whom never remembers birthdays and the other who never forgets them.

This is why people are so hard to understand. I cannot even estimate their gravitational pull.

If one were to just understand the worldly life and what it is, he would attain liberation [moksha]. The worldly life is ‘relative’. And “All these relatives are temporary adjustments”.

You are dead, you know!” he screeched delightedly, “Come on Miss Wright! Die! Die! DIE!

Her clear conscience mocked rumour’s mendacity, But we are a mob prone to credit sin.

Only world law can assure progress towards a civilized peaceful community.

Your worst putt will usually be as good as your best chip.

Things have always happened better for me than I could plan them to.

I used to love to make things - you couldn't drag me away for dinner because I was always writing a story or something.

In a library we are surrounded by many hundreds of dear friends, but they are imprisoned by an enchanter in these paper and leathern boxes.

The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause.