Few of the useful idiots I have known have been any use to me.
You cannot have a contemporary prison without contemporary furniture.
Hatred, at a very high pitch, becomes a difference not of degree but of kind — a second order, where one hates not just the object but anyone who likes it.
Never tell a man he’s funny: the idea, once implanted, is impossible, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, to dislodge.
What ends an episode of mass psychosis? Only fatigue.
To prefer the strange to the familiar, the far to the near, is in an adolescent a pretentious and mildly endearing tic; in an adult, a disease.
There would be less loose talk if the messenger were shot more often.
Humanity is forever in the grip of various mass hysterias, like little puddles of mimetic polyalloy, which occasionally gather themselves together, and then you have Terminator 2.
What is praise for the living but the wistful hope that someday, somehow, it will be requited?
Humanity will extinguish itself not by suicide, which is too dignified, but by accident, a household mishap like swallowing paint thinner, on a planetary scale.
Inequality is the one unforgivable heresy, and all the conventional pieties conspire to disguise its existence.