A great age of literature is perhaps always a great age of translations.
The real trouble with war (modern war) is that it gives no one a chance to kill the right people.
A civilized man is one who will give a serious answer to a serious question. Civilization itself is a certain sane balance of values.
Man is an over-complicated organism. If he is doomed to extinction he will die out for want of simplicity.
People find ideas a bore because they do not distinguish between live ones and stuffed ones on a shelf.
In our time, the curse is monetary illiteracy, just as inability to read plain print was the curse of earlier centuries.
In case I conk out, this is provisionally what I have to do: I must clarify obscurities; I must make clearer definite ideas or dissociations. I must find a verbal formula to combat the rise of brutality—the principle of order versus the split atom.
I guess the definition of a lunatic is a man surrounded by them.
You let me throw the bricks through the front window. You go in at the back and take the swag.
A man of genius has a right to any mode of expression.