When one realizes that his life is worthless he either commits suicide >>
Hardly a book of human worth, be it heaven's own secret, is honestly p >>
We are always talking about being together, and yet whatever we invent >>
I love men, not for what unites them, but for what divides them, and I >>
We are, to put it mildly, in a mess, and there is a strong chance that >>
I wish I loved the Human Race; I wish I loved its silly face; I wish I >>
Though man is the only beast that can write, he has small reason to be proud of it. When he utters something that is wise it is nothing that the river horse does not know, and most of his creations are the result of accident.