“Never run a bluff with a six-gun.”

There are those who argue that everything breaks even in this old dump of a world of ours.

I suppose these ginks who argue that way hold that because the rich man gets ice in the summer and the poor man gets it in the winter things are breaking even for both. Maybe so, but I’ll swear I can’t see it that way.

We all get the same amount of ice. The rich get it in the summer. The poor get it in the winter.

Shoot first and never miss.

Every dog, we are told, has his day, unless there are more dogs than days.

If you want to hit a man in the chest, aim for his groin.

There are many in this old world of ours who hold that things break about even for all of us. I have observed, for example, that we all get the same amount of ice. The rich get it in the summertime and the poor get it in the winter.

The Truth is the only thing you’ll ever run into that has no agenda.

What you run away from owns you. You are the dog on a leash. The most you can do is to tug against the leash.

Dancing is such a despised and dishonored trade that if you tell a doctor or a laywer you do choreography he’ll look at you as if you were a hummingbird.

Nothing that rest on some contradictory basis shall succeed or last in the long run (“ne saurait réussir ou durer, à la longue”, Fr.); all that involve (or imply…) a contradiction is fatally destined, early or late, to disintegrate and disappear.

You need people with brain and heart and soul that give it all. You need young people on skateboards and you need people running around making noise.

I love lawyers and bankers, they are my family, but I don’t want to live with them. It doesn’t make a city.

Even where love has run thin the child’s soul musters strength… the rush of purpose to make a life worth living past abandonment building the layers up again over the torn hole.

We might possess every technological resource… but if our language is inadequate, our vision remains formless.