Falsehood Is The Jockey Of Misfortune.

Who Would Prefer Peace To The Glory Of Hunger And Thirst, Of Wading Through Mud, And Dying In The Service Of One's Country?

I Remember A Time When A Cabbage Could Sell Itself By Being A Cabbage. Nowadays It’s No Good Being A Cabbage – Unless You Have An Agent And Pay Him A Commission. Nothing Is Free Anymore To Sell Itself Or Give Itself Away. These Days, Countess, Every Cabbage Has Its Pimp.

Destiny Is Simply The Relentless Logic Of Each Day We Live.

Men Should Only Believe Half Of What Women Say. But Which Half?

One Of The Privileges Of The Great Is To Witness Catastrophes From A Terrace.