“As to those who hoard gold and silver and spend it not in God’s path, give them, then, the tidings of a painful agony.”

The less a statesman amounts to, the more he loves the flag.

Lots of folks confuse bad management with destiny.

Ther’s still a few honest folks left but they never seem t’ find anything you lose.

Some fellows get credit for being conservative when they are only stupid.

The only way to entertain some folks is to listen to them.

Luckily your lifetime warranty on your heart is still in effect. Of course, that becomes void and expires when you do.

Live so that you can at least get the benefit of the doubt.

There is plenty of peace in any home where the family doesn’t make the mistake of trying to get together.

Washing your car and polishing it all up is a never failing sign of rain.

Of all the unbearable nuisances, the ignoramus that has traveled is the worst.

Don’t knock the weather; nine-tenths of the people couldn’t start a conversation if it didn’t change once in a while.

It is pretty hard to tell what does bring happiness; poverty and wealth have both failed.

There’s another advantage to being poor – a doctor will cure you faster.

Some folks seem to have descended from the chimpanzee much later than others.

A sadder but wiser man is a thousand times more agreeable to meet than the feller that never makes a mistake.

My idea of walking into the jaws of death is marrying some woman who has lost three husbands.

Grief is the agony of an instant; the indulgence of grief the blunder of a life.

Forgive her for how her agony reveals itself, child. This is how blood magic works. Unconditional never meant perfect anyway.

There is no answer to Auschwitz…To try to answer is to commit a supreme blasphemy. Israel enables us to bear the agony of Auschwitz without radical despair

The thorn is a bridge spanning the muddy depths of agony and sorrow so that one may on the other side dance to the drums of the rose of joy.

I’m half agony, half hope – like I’m a freshly cut bone, like the last stone that was held – then not thrown, like a garden where inspiration roots but never grows.

When she’s drenched in agony and soaked in pain, her smile holds the art this world is dying to learn.

I hate and love. You ask, perhaps, how can that be? I know not, but I feel the agony.

I hate and I love. And if you ask me how, I do not know: I only feel it, and I am torn in two.