Religion is an attempt, a noble attempt, to suggest in human terms more-than-human realities.
Any man worth his salt has by the time he is forty-five accumulated a crown of thorns, and the problem is to learn to wear it over one ear.
The plural of spouse is spice.
Beware of the conversationalist who adds “in other words.” He is merely starting afresh.
The world, in its sheer exuberance of kindness, will try to bury the poet with warm and lovely human trivialities. It will even ask him to autograph books.
Being in a hurry seems so fiercely important when you yourself are the hurrier and so comically ludicrous when it is someone else.
Fifty percent of the world are women, yet they always seem a novelty.
A mind too proud to unbend over the small ridiculosa of life is as painful as a library with no trash in it.
Man makes a great fuss about this planet which is only a ballbearing in the hub of the universe.
The censure of a dog is something no man can stand.
How womanly it is to ask the unanswerable at the moment impossible.
Never write up your diary on the day itself, for it takes longer than that to know what happened.
The world has been printing books for 450 years, and yet gunpowder still has a wider circulation. Never mind! Printer’s ink is the greater explosive: it will win.
Between ourselves, there is no such thing, abstractly, as a ‘good’ book. A book is ‘good’ only when it meets some human hunger or refutes some human error.
That’s what this country needs – more books!
All students can learn.
The everlasting lure of round-the-corner, how fascinating it is.
Words are a commodity in which there is never any slump.
People like to imagine that because all our mechanical equipment moves so much faster, that we are thinking faster, too.
Only the sinner has the right to preach.