What the soul cries out for is the resurrection of the senses. Even in this life, matter would be nothing to us if it were not the source of sensations.
Upstart greatness is everywhere less respected than ancient greatness.
It is the interest of every man to live as much at his ease as he can; and if his emoluments are to be precisely the same, whether he does or does not perform some very laborious duty, it is certainly his interest, at least as interest is vulgarly understood, either to neglect it altogether, or, if he is subject to some authority which will not suffer him to do this, to perform it in as careless and slovenly a manner as that authority will permit.
Goods can serve many other purposes besides purchasing money, but money can serve no other purpose besides purchasing goods.
People of the same trade seldom meet together, even for merriment and diversion, but the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the public, or in some contrivance to raise prices.
Corn is a necessary, silver is only a superfluity.
The robot is going to lose. Not by much. But when the final score is tallied, flesh and blood is going to beat the damn monster.
An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools.
Suicide is cheating the doctor out of job.
I’m willing to look my own nightmare on film, but if it endangers my life, then I’m willing to put my life before movies.
I call it "pedal magic" and only those who ride know the utter ecstasy of bicycling. Pressing a pedal toward Earth gives flight to my fancy. Every rotation powers my traveling machine toward yet another date with destiny. The breeze clears my senses. The wind blows away my troubles. The sun shines upon my future. Spinning spokes create flashing metal upon an endless path-cycling feels like an infinite spiritual rush. It cleanses my mind. All my troubles fade into joy.