I've been frozen for 30 years. I've got to see if my bits and pieces are still working.
The fate of all explanation is to close one door only to have another fly wide open.
My liveliest interest is not so much in things, as in relations of things. I have spent much time thinking about the alleged pseudo-relations that are called coincidences. What if some of them should not be coincidences?
People with a psychological need to believe in marvels are no more prejudiced and gullible than people with a psychological need not to believe in marvels.
The Earth is a farm. We are someone else's property.
Sometimes I am a collector of data, and only a collector, and am likely to be gross and miserly, piling up notes, pleased with merely numerically adding to my stores. Other times I have joys, when unexpectedly coming upon an outrageous story that may not be altogether a lie, or upon a macabre little thing that may make some reviewer of my more or less good works mad. But always there is present a feeling of unexplained relations of events that I note, and it is this far-away, haunting, or often taunting, awareness, or suspicion, that keeps me piling on.
I think, therefore I'm going to have breakfast.
To win in Vietnam, we will have to exterminate a nation.
Great wine requires a mad man to grow the vine, a wise man to watch over it, a lucid poet to make it, and a lover to drink it.
Loving others always costs us something and requires effort. And you have to decide to do it on purpose. You can't wait for a feeling to motivate you.
The British retreat is over and now the advance will begin.