Prudence does not make people happy; it merely deprives them of the excitement of being constantly in trouble.
The limits of prudence: one cannot jump out of a burning building gradually.
Moderation in all things is best, but it’s pretty hard to get excited about it.
Moderation shifts when extremes do.
Imprudence relies on luck, prudence on method. That gives prudence less edge than it expects.
Worrying is as futile as boredom, but harder work.
Worry is not thought; complaining is not action.
A sense of absurdity interferes with my efforts to appear venerable.
There is a line between a definite maybe and an indefinite yes.
The theme of my autobiography could only be repetition.
The New Right: kiss the bankers and spank the babies.
Disobedient parents are a great trouble to their children.
Our vices are attempts to combine self-medication and enjoyment.
Respectability is joining chastity in the museum of dead issues.
Great men wait for the right moment to abandon caution. The rest of us abandon it when impatience becomes too much for us.
Pedagogical romances leave the mentor disgruntled, the pupil confused.
Smooth white skin invites something that will leave a trace, a kiss or a slap.
Self-pity dries up our sympathy for others.
Self-pity makes people callous.
I answered my father’s demands for sympathy with silence.