Weaving his verbal wreaths, in prose and verse, of marvellous poison ivy.
I hate nobody.
Because there is no cosmic point to the life that each of us perceives on this distant bit of dust at the galaxy's edge... there is all the more reason for us to maintain in proper balance what we have here. Because there is nothing else. No thing. This is it. And quite enough, all in all.
Today's public figures can no longer write their own speeches or books, and there is some evidence that they can't read them either.
Every time a friend succeeds, I die a little.
Do not regulate the private lives of people because, if you do, they will become angry and antisocial, and they will get what they want from criminals who work in perfect freedom because they know how to pay off the police.