A person incapable of imaging another world than given to him by his senses would be subhuman, and a person who identifies his imaginary world with the world of sensory fact has become insane.
Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.
Whatever you do, good or bad, people will always have something negative to say.
All the rest is silence On the other side of the wall, And the silence ripeness, And the ripeness all.
A dead man who never caused others to die seldom rates a statue.
Almost all of our relationships begin and most of them continue as forms of mutual exploitation, a mental or physical barter, to be terminated when one or both parties run out of goods.
A poet can write about a man slaying a dragon, but not about a man pushing a button that releases a bomb.
Every autobiography is concerned with two characters, a Don Quixote, the Ego, and a Sancho Panza, the Self.
Fame often makes a writer vain, but seldom makes him proud.
Murder is commoner among cooks than among members of any other profession.
Sob, heavy world Sob as you spin, Mantled in mist Remote from the happy.
The countenances of children, like those of animals, are masks, not faces, for they have not yet developed a significant profile of their own.
You know there are no secrets in America. It’s quite different in England, where people think of a secret as a shared relation between two people.
A tremendous number of people in America work very hard at something that bores them. Even a rich man thinks he has to go down to the office everyday. Not because he likes it but because he can’t think of anything else to do.
No hero is mortal till he dies.
Good can imagine Evil; but Evil cannot imagine Good.
Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic.
If time were the wicked sheriff in a horse opera, I’d pay for riding lessons and take his gun away.
We all have these places where shy humiliations gambol on sunny afternoons.
It takes little talent to see what lies under one’s nose, a good deal to know in what direction to point that organ.