One Does Not Have To Make Frank

If Man Merely Sat Back And Thought About His Impending Termination, And His Terrifying Insignificance And Aloneness In The Cosmos, He Would Surely Go Mad, Or Succumb To A Numbing Sense Of Futility. Why, He Might Ask Himself, Should He Bother To Write A Great Symphony, Or Strive To Make A Living, Or Even To Love Another, When He Is No More Than A Momentary Microbe On A Dust Mote Whirling Through The Unimaginable Immensity Of Space?

I Do Not Always Know What I Want, But I Do Know What I Don't Want.

Anybody Who Runs Is A Vc. Anybody Who Stands Still Is A Well-disciplined Vc.

I'm Not Saying We Wouldn't Get Our Hair Mussed, Mr. President, But I Do Say Not More Than Ten To Twenty Million Dead Depending Upon The Breaks.

Here's To Five Miserable Months On The Wagon And The Irreparable Harm That It's Caused Me.