Reading an author’s work for his life is like digging up a garden for manure.
A new law is passed. We do not read it; would not understand it if we read it; could not foresee its consequences if we understood it; yet hold an unalterable opinion of its merits.
Nothing is more exasperating than being lied to when both of you know and neither will admit it; yet this goes on all the time.
Our awareness of what we deserve, but lack, is surpassed only by our blindness to what we have, but do not deserve.
Diseases have fashions, but hypochondria is always in style.
As I interpret Genesis, the original sin is ennui.
Whatever is unnecessary is pernicious.
It is a peculiar hell, this world in which everyone is always ready for his close-up.
Science progresses by funeral, engineering by disaster.
Read to remember, write to forget.