As far as modern writing is concerned, it is rarely rewarding to translate it, although it might be easy. Translation is very much like copying paintings.
To be absolutely certain about something, one must know everything or nothing about it.
Inheritance taxes are so high that the happiest mourner at a rich man's funeral is usually Uncle Sam.
If you want to make an easy job seem mighty hard, just keep putting off doing it.
If you think there are no new frontiers, watch a boy ring the front doorbell on his first date.
A man who won't lie to a woman has very little consideration for her feelings.
Writing is the hardest way of earning a living, with the possible exception of wrestling alligators.
Maybe, he said hesitantly, maybe there is a beast. The assembly cried out savagely and Ralph stood up in amazement. You, Simon? You believe in this? I don't know, said Simon. His heartbeats were choking him. [. . . ] Ralph shouted. Hear him! He's got the conch! What I mean is. . . maybe it's only us. Nuts! That was from Piggy, shocked out of decorum.
Most of us are now free to walk away from our marital commitments more easily than from any other contract in our lives.
Thus not only the mental and the material, but the theoretical and the practical in the mathematical world, are brought into more intimate and effective connection with each other.
If I was a poet, I had become one because poetry, more intensely than any other practice, could not evade its anachronism and marginality and so constituted a kind of acknowledgment of my own preposterousness, admitting my bad faith in good faith, so to speak.