We pay for the mistakes of our ancestors, and it seems only fair that they should leave us the money to pay with.
By the time a bartender knows what drink a man will have before he orders, there is little else about him worth knowing.
Age is not a particularly interesting subject. Anyone can get old. All you have to do is live long enough.
If you want to get rich from writing, write the sort of thing that’s read by persons who move their lips when they’re reading to themselves.
Fate often puts all the material for happiness and prosperity into a man’s hands just to see how miserable he can make himself with them.
Ours is a world where people don’t know what they want and are willing to go through hell to get it.
Of middle age the best that can be said is that a middle-aged person has likely learned how to have a little fun in spite of his troubles.
Middle age is the time when a man is always thinking that in a week or two he will feel as good as ever.
The trouble with the public is that there is too much of it; what we need in public is less quantity and more quality.
I have often noticed that ancestors never boast of the descendants who boast of ancestors. I would rather start a family than finish one. Blood will tell, but often it tells too much.
One of the most important things to remember about infant care is: don’t change diapers in midstream.
Writing a book of poetry is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo.
There is luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves, we feel no one else has a right to blame us.
Publishing a volume of verse is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo.