“Once a woman passes a certain point in intelligence she finds it almost impossible to get a husband: she simply cannot go on listening without snickering.”

Every election is a sort of advance auction sale of stolen goods.

Journalism is to politician as dog is to lamp-post.

Under democracy one party always devotes its chief energies to trying to prove that the other party is unfit to rule—and both commonly succeed, and are right.

In this world of sin and sorrow there is always something to be thankful for; as for me, I rejoice that I am not a Republican.

A man may be a fool and not know it, but not if he is married.

The State doesn’t just want you to obey, it wants to make you WANT to obey.

The final test of truth is ridicule. Very few dogmas have ever faced it and survived.

Sometimes the idiots outvote the sensible people.

Democracy is the art and science of running the circus from the monkey cage.

A professional politician is a professionally dishonorable man. In order to get anywhere near high office he has to make so many compromises and submit to so many humiliations that he becomes indistinguishable from a streetwalker.

The only good bureaucrat is one with a pistol at his head. Put it in his hand and it’s good-bye to the Bill of Rights.

All government, in its essence, is a conspiracy against the superior man: its one permanent object is to oppress him and cripple him.

Puritanism. The haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy.

Democracy is the theory that the common people know what they want, and deserve to get it good and hard.

The American people, North and South, went into the [Civil] war as citizens of their respective states, they came out as subjects … what they thus lost they have never got back.

No one in this world, so far as I know – and I have searched the records for years, and employed agents to help me – has ever lost money by underestimating the intelligence of the great masses of the plain people.

Even though we tried we still ended up broken shattered, scattered, glass.

If you can earn the ink-covered heart of a poet – they will inscribe you into infinity.

One day, someone will consider themselves the luckiest in the world to be loved by a heart like yours.

It is beneath pale blue skies, amongst sycamore trees, and afoot dirtied leaves, my heart, and soul finds peace.

My heart cracks like an egg spilling the promises I thought I made.

As I unfolded my hand she took my palm her eyes narrowed on the heart line and I knew by the look in my eyes I would always be heartbroken.

I dipped my heart into the river Styx, holding on to nothing but my memories of you. You’ll always be the Achilles heel to my invulnerable heart.

Lips taste as honey eyes shine like stars hearts filled with fire.